With Intent
by Perspex13
Summary: "Why don't you flirt with me anymore?"
1. Chapter 1

Title: With Intent

Rating: T

Timeline: Late Season 3

Summary: "Why don't you flirt with me anymore?"

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

A/N: I seem to be stuck on Season 3 lately. This will be the last of an unplanned trilogy addressing the partnership back then. This is AU sometime after Knockdown, playing with what might've happened if Castle reacted differently to Beckett's comments in that episode.

* * *

"Why don't you flirt with me anymore?"

Castle, who'd been listlessly playing with his cell phone while Beckett attended to paperwork, feels his insides freeze at her question. Looking up in a panic, he swivels his head to see if anyone else in the bullpen heard her question before looking nervously at his partner. She's looking down at the form she's filling out, but there's no doubt in his mind that she's focused on him and awaiting an answer. Better make it a good one, he thinks to himself.

"Uh, what?" he manages, cringing.

His ineloquent fumbling causes her pen to still in her hand, but she keeps looking at the form.

"Flirting," she repeats quietly. "You know, how you've communicated with me for the past couple years. But you don't anymore."

"I flirt with you, Beckett," he tries to bluff, shutting down his phone to ensure that he's not distracted. "I flirt with all beautiful women."

"I agree with the latter, and wouldn't limit it to 'beautiful women,'" she sighs, dropping the pen and sitting back in her chair to look at him. "But the former isn't true, not anymore."

"Of course it…"

"No, Castle, it's not," Beckett interjects. "I'm a detective. I notice things. So, tell me what's going on. Are you seeing someone?"

"What? No," he answers quickly, again craning his neck to see if anyone's listening to their conversation.

"That's a fail, Castle," Beckett says, lips upturned. "Seriously, how many interrogations have you watched and you still fell for that trick? If I'd asked you the same question last year, you would've flirted with me to prove me wrong. Hell," she adds with a little chuff of laughter, "you would've taken it as a challenge. Now you just look scared."

"I am not _scared_ ," Castle defends himself with a scoff, indignant. At Beckett's incredulous look, he grudgingly offers up a different explanation. "I just don't wanna talk about this here," he says, casting another look around the bullpen.

" _Okay_ ," Beckett says questioningly, wondering at his sudden reticence given the wealth of inappropriate topics he's raised, loudly, while sitting in that chair. "It's nearly quitting time. Why don't we talk over burgers and milkshakes?"

"I don't think that'd be a good idea," Castle sidesteps, watching Beckett's eyebrows climb her forehead in disbelief.

"The Haunt, then," Beckett probes, growing increasingly curious about her partner's aversion to this discussion. "We can talk over drinks."

"That _definitely_ wouldn't be a good idea," he replies, looking increasingly agitated. "I take it back," he says, probably to foreclose any additional suggestions. "Let's talk here. Just…," he trails off, looking nervously toward Ryan and Esposito, "later."

Beckett acquiesces, but her concentration is shot. Rather than focus on her paperwork, she finds herself dwelling on her partner's odd behavior. True, they don't tend to talk about things like this directly, but she didn't see the harm in it. In fact, she was ready for Castle to disprove her theory. She's felt a bit ridiculous since it popped into her head while she watched him tell a story in the breakroom a few days ago. He was his usual happy, exuberant self, bantering with the guys and flirting with the ladies. It made her nostalgic, which started this line of thinking. She'd thought a direct question might be a quick way to dismiss a baseless insecurity. Instead, it clearly identified something much more significant than she expected.

"Wrap it up, detectives," Montgomery calls out from his office about ten minutes later, startling Beckett. "We don't have the budget for overtime and you're not on an active case. Time to head out."

" _Sweet_ ," Esposito sighs from his chair, pausing long enough for a wide stretch before popping up and grabbing his jacket. "Don't have to tell me twice. Later," he calls out, leaving his partner and everyone else in the dust as he bolts for the elevator.

"Big date?" Beckett asks Ryan, surprised by Esposito's quick departure.

"I'd say no," Ryan replies with a smile as he stands and shrugs into his own coat, "but I'm not sure that's right. He's gaming online, but he always seems to pair up with the same player, so it might be more about the chatting than the playing."

"How could an anonymous, internet-based relationship go wrong?" Beckett says with a laugh, watching Ryan reply with an exaggerated shrug. "Have a good night, Ryan."

"You, too, Beckett," he says with a smile. "Night, Castle."

"Until tomorrow, Kev," Castle smiles and waves, sighing heavily with the departure of his last excuse to avoid Beckett's inquiry.

"So," she says, turning to him. "Coffee?" she asks while tilting her head toward the break room.

"Sure," he replies gamely, escorting her to the room and holding the door open for her before hustling ahead to work the machine.

"When we stopped talking earlier," Beckett says while leaning against the counter, watching him with arms crossed, "you were about to tell me why you don't flirt with me anymore."

"That's not exactly how I remember it," Castle replies, looking cocky while working the machine without looking.

"I was trying to save us time," his partner replies with a signature eye roll. "Do we really need to go through the whole bogus denial, argument, and compromise, or can we just skip to the discussion?"

With a sigh, Castle turns back to face the espresso machine while he works on their drinks. "It's not appropriate," he answers quietly.

"What do you mean, 'not appropriate?'" she asks, irritated. "After all the trouble you've given me, all the inappropriate comments and lewd suggestions, you think I'm gonna let you dodge my question because it's _not appropriate_?"

Castle shakes his head slowly, still focused on the making their drinks. "It's not an excuse," he explains. "It's your answer," he confesses with a shrug, still facing away from her.

Knitting her brows, Beckett tries to understand what he's saying. "It's not appropriate to flirt?" she asks, bewildered. "Why not?"

"Seriously?" he asks in reply, sounding surprised and a little annoyed. "You're in a serious relationship. One you told me you wanted to work."

"Castle, you flirt with everything that moves," she objects, growing annoyed herself at his continuing evasions. "Take Hastings – I don't know what you said to her the other day, but she was still blushing two hours later. And Andrews – you flirt with her all the time and she just had her second kid!"

Beckett knows that something's seriously amiss when Castle doesn't tease her about being jealous, about noticing his interactions with other women in the precinct.

"Now you're being deliberately obtuse," he complains, finishing their drinks and lifting the milk carafe. "I don't have to explain flirting to you, Beckett, you're a master. You know damned well the difference between flirting for fun and flirting with intent. And even if you didn't, you're a cop. You know it's all about intent."

"You're not making any sense," she objects, though the root of his discomfort is becoming clear and she's starting to regret starting this conversation.

"You told me you wanted things to work with Josh," he answers as he turns and extends a mug to her, the smiley face floating on the surface mocking their current tension. "So, no, Beckett, I don't flirt with you anymore. I won't. It wouldn't be right."

"But…," she trails off, thinking about his demeanor more than his position. Castle's rarely intransigent in a discussion, at least not obviously. He'll joke and kid around, embracing an opposite position as often as his own for the sake of a good discussion or pure chaos. She can't remember the last time he made his opinion clear at the start of a discussion and refused to brook argument.

Making a leap that really isn't so unusual given her job and the people she's hunted, she turns to Castle. "Meredith or Gina?" she asks quietly.

Castle says nothing for a few long moments, staring instead into the mug in his hand. Finally, with a sigh, he turns and dumps the mug into the sink before running a sponge around the inside, rinsing it, and putting it in the drying rack.

"Thanks for the coffee," he answers in a voice of false cheer. "I need to get home and get dinner started. For Alexis. She's a little moody when she's hungry. Until tomorrow, detective," Castle says while lifting a hand to tilt the hat he's not wearing. And then he's gone.

* * *

A/N: Sorry, I'd hoped this would be another all-at-once posting, but last week got on top of me and I didn't get to write as much as I would've preferred. Chapter two is about done and chapter three's almost there, too, so this one will be finished quickly. By next Monday at the latest, but probably sooner.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

"So, what's up with you and writer-boy?" Lanie asks as she crouches beside their victim, an attractive woman in her mid-30s who was found in her upscale apartment after a neighbor called the police after hearing the sounds of a fight.

"What do you mean?" Beckett temporizes, pacing around the body and jotting observations in a small moleskin notebook.

Pursing her lips, Lanie casts an annoyed look at her friend. "You know what I mean. There's something off," she says, waves a hand surreptitiously toward Castle, who's standing in the corner and talking to the neighbor. "You've been here for twenty minutes and haven't been near each other that whole time. You're not looking at each other, either, not like you usually do," she continues, starting to smile at Beckett's look of surprise.

"Lanie, it's not like that…," Beckett starts to explain before her friend laughs.

"It's _exactly_ like that. You're both spending so much energy pretending nothing's going on that neither of you has managed to realize that the vic's neighbor is all over your boy."

Spinning her head to look, Beckett chastises herself for such an obvious reaction. Based on what she sees, though, it's not clear that Lanie's comment is accurate. The witness – a tall, striking, and composed neighbor named Aurelia Caivano – is clearly drawing some strength from Castle's presence. But she appears too sophisticated, and Castle's too focused on pursuing the case appropriately, for anything more to be going on in this setting.

"He's just helping with the translation," Beckett demurs to Lanie's obvious skepticism. "The neighbor's Italian."

"Castle doesn't speak Italian," Lanie replies, rolling her eyes.

"No," Beckett agrees, "he doesn't. But her French is better than her English, and that's where Castle can help."

"Help her while he's ignoring you," Lanie replies, driving the conversation back to where it started as she rises from her crouch and starts putting her equipment away.

"I pushed him," Beckett admits in a low voice. "Not physically," she defends against Lanie's shocked look. "About something personal. He didn't react well."

"Turnabout?" Lanie asks while grabbing her clipboard and jotting some notes. "Seems kinda hypocritical after all the ways he's pushed you."

Beckett thinks about this for a moment. She could be upset about that aspect of their conversation, but that's not really what's bothering her. She doesn't want to explain to Lanie how their conversation started, either, so she takes a moment to frame an explanation.

"We were talking about cheating," she says, gesturing to the body on the floor, "a topic that tends to come up in our cases. He said something that made me wonder about his motivation. So I asked about his ex-wives," she says in a voice lowered almost to inaudibility, casting a look around to ensure that no one's eavesdropping.

When Lanie doesn't reply, Beckett swivels her head back to see that her friend looks disgusted. "I can't believe you," Lanie says in a low voice of her own. "That man's heartbroken from watching you with Josh. And the personal issue you decide to pursue is whether his ex-wives cheated on him?" When Beckett offers no response other than a surprised stare, Lanie just shakes her head. "No wonder he's withdrawn. I don't blame him," she says before turning back to the scene, clearly ending their side conversation.

"Let's get her back to the lab," Lanie says to some nearby techs. Her words draw Esposito and Ryan over, as it clearly indicates the end of this stage of the investigation. "Manual strangulation," Lanie says clearly, "no prints but we'll see what we can get from her skin and the bruising pattern. TOD one to two hours ago," she says with an inflection emphasizing how quickly this was called in. Her reminder draws attention back to the neighbor, who's still talking with Castle and a uniform.

"Castle," Beckett calls out as the scene breaks up, "you ready?"

Her partner disengages from the witness and the uniform, drifting over after sending a smile and a wave Lanie's way.

"I'm gonna stay for the rest of her statement," he explains quietly after stepping off to the side of her. "Though this one might be pretty simple. Ms. Caivano said that the victim was having enough trouble with someone to have spoken to an attorney about it. As soon as we get through the language difficulties, we'll figure out who."

"Does she know who was bothering the vic or which attorney she talked to?" Beckett asks, hoping for an easy answer that'll prevent an afternoon of sifting through the tens of thousands of attorneys in Manhattan.

"The short answer is no, but we're working on it," Castle huffs, knowing the reason for her question and quailing at the amount of investigative drudgery on the horizon, barring any convenient phone records or credit card statements. "I'll call if we get anything useful. I'll meet you in the precinct after."

Beckett nods, thinking mostly about the case but also wondering if Castle's decision to stay behind is really about helping translate or about creating some breathing room between them. She's still a bit stung by Lanie's reaction, too, so maybe some space to think is a good thing.

Collecting the rest of her team, Beckett heads back to the precinct where Ryan and Esposito dive into phone and financial records, respectively, while she starts a new murderboard. She's just drawn the timeline when Castle's text arrives, informing her that the victim had apparently entertained many suitors since her break with a long-time boyfriend, something with which her philandering ex took extreme issue. The ex is looking pretty good for this, though the victim's dive back into the dating scene might've put her in the path of a killer. Still, it's sufficiently promising that she starts to hurry through the process of adding information to the board so she can get on identifying and locating the ex-boyfriend before she stops, slaps her forehead for the ridiculous oversight, and calls Castle.

"Are you still with the neighbor?" she asks Castle as soon as he answers.

" _Trevor Stenson_ ," Castle answers with a laugh. " _I was just about to call you about the ex. He's a financial advisor. Good gig if you want to meet the stay-home spouses of rich guys who spend too much time in the office. He didn't show up for work today_."

"You called him?" Beckett asks, pinching the bridge or her nose as she marvels at her partner's casual willingness to hare off on his own.

" _Sure, just wanted to see if my old buddy Trev was around for a drink_ ," he answers with a coy laugh. " _His secretary said he often ducks into a bar called McGreedy's. After all this investigating, I'm a little thirsty. I was thinking of heading over there for a drink_."

"I'll meet you there," she answers quickly, happy to be on the hunt. " _Wait_ for me." After sending some uniforms to check Stenson's home and retrieve him if he's there, she's on the move.

* * *

As she approaches the bar in her cruiser, Beckett sees Castle standing on the curb, keeping an eye out and waving to her when he recognizes the cruiser. Unlocking the car doors, she pauses long enough for him to slide into the seat next to her. Once he's inside, though, she doesn't pull away, instead turning to him for an explanation.

"He's not there," Castle says, holding up his phone that shows a picture of Stenson from his firm's website. "Tony hasn't seen him. The bartender," Castle explains with a shrug.

"You asked the bartender about him?" Beckett asks, shaking her head. "Castle, you've got to stop this. You're not a cop. You've got to at least wait for me before you go charging off asking questions or calling suspects."

"Head toward Stenson's place," Castle replies, nodding forward. Beckett complies with an exasperated sigh, after which Castle starts to explain. "I just went in to look around," he begins to explain his behavior. "I had this great story all worked out," he explains sheepishly, "just in case someone asked me what was going on or if I bumped into him. But I wasn't three steps inside before the bartender recognized me."

"A fan?" Beckett asks, recalling other circumstances where Castle's notoriety has surfaced during investigations.

"In a way," he replied with a wry twist of his lips. "He's not happy at McGreedy's and recognized me as the owner of the Haunt. So, he was anxious to connect and prove how helpful he could be."

Castle grows distracted after that, checking his texts before looking up and watching traffic as they battle the onset of rush hour on their way uptown. Beckett, meanwhile, ruminates on her partner's workload. He's writing, and supporting that effort by spending a lot of time in the precinct. And now he's running his bar. She wonders how he manages it all, or how long he can juggle all of his responsibilities before letting something fall away.

"I've already sent uniforms to his condo," Beckett says several minutes later as a way to restart a conversation with an abnormally quiet Castle. "So, what'd you have in mind?"

"A pub crawl," he replies, still looking out the windshield. "If he's drowning his guilt – and Tony said he's a big drinker – seems more likely that he'd be tanked near his home than his office. And if he's running, Ryan'll find him with his financials."

Castle's plan makes sense, with one exception. "I thought you didn't want to have drinks with me."

She regrets her barb almost immediately, but it's too late. Castle's gone quiet again, his head now swiveled to look out his side window.

Nearly ten minutes of painful silence pass while she tries to think of a way to breach the gap between them, each gambit seeming weaker than the last. Finally deciding on a simple apology, she's about to speak when he startles her.

"It was Meredith," he admits quietly, still facing away from her.

"Castle, I'm…"

"Alexis was young, still in her crib," he interrupts, voice low and rough. "You wonder why I'm so focused on her, why I love her so fiercely?" he asks rhetorically. "I was heartbroken, Beckett, but she held the pieces together until they healed again. In her tiny, perfect hands."

His words are so reverent, his tone so desperately grateful, that she can feel the prick of tears in her eyes. She blinks them back, refusing to let them fall, while casting furtive looks at her partner and wondering if he's in a similar state.

"I know the pain of betrayal, of infidelity," he adds as the car slows, the GPS having alerted Beckett they're close enough to start looking for a parking place. "I won't put someone else in that position. It's not something I'll even joke about," he adds, his statement all the more powerful because he doesn't deliver the line with a smile or bravado. "So, yes, Beckett," he finishes with a heavy voice. "I'm done flirting with you."

"Is this your ego talking again," Beckett asks, unsure whether she's joking or angry, "or do you think so little of my ability to resist you?"

"This isn't about you," Castle says as he opens his car door. "I won't make myself feel like that."

She wants to ask him why this has to be so absolute, why he can't flirt 'without intent' like he does with every other woman in the precinct, but he's already out of the car and on the move towards the door of the bar a few shops down from their parking spot. Tossing her parking plaque on the dash, she hustles to lock the door and catch up with Castle. Before she can reach him, though, he arrives at the bar and holds the door open for her, making clear his aversion to continuing their discussion.

Maybe this isn't terrible, though: they're visiting bars in an unlikely search of Stenson, but it's getting past late afternoon, so she might be able to talk him into a drink and a talk anyway. She knows she's pushing and probably too hard, but she's desperate to hold things together. One of Josh's greatest virtues is his complete separation from her professional life – she doesn't need to worry about disturbing the dynamic at the precinct, which is nearly perfect. But now Castle's changing anyway.

"Damn, that was fast," the large, balding bartender says as they step into the dimly-lit bar, Beckett's badge still managing to shine from where it's clipped to her belt. "I just called about this guy five minutes ago!"

Following the line of the grimy towel he holds in his hand, Beckett and Castle see the bartender pointing to a passed out patron sprawled over a small table. His head lolls on the table in a puddle of his own drool, while his is arm clutched possessively around a collection of pint and shot glasses. Pulling out his phone, Castle again reloads the picture of Stenson, nods, and holds it up for Beckett's inspection.

"That's our boy," she agrees with a sigh, happy to have found their suspect but disappointed at having her chance to talk with Castle slip away.

* * *

A/N: Next chapter tomorrow night, and an outside shot at two chapters. I'm trying to finish before leaving town on Thursday, but I'm not sure I'll make it. If I don't, I'll post soon thereafter.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

A/N: Turns out I was kidding about posting this tomorrow. Worked the kinks out a little ahead of schedule.

* * *

"Nicely done, detective," Castle compliments as Beckett exits the interrogation room.

"Thanks, Castle," she replies, making an effort to accept his praise and ensure that her frustration doesn't spill over to him. "But breaking a severely hungover murderer who had a rough night in Holding wasn't the greatest challenge. I know you like the weird cases, but thanks for sticking around on this one."

Beckett knits her brow at his look of surprise at her gratitude, and notices that he looks just a little wary as they walk back to her desk. He seems to be as on-edge about their recent conversations as she's feeling, but at least he came in this morning. It would've been very easy for him to skip out on the Stenson interrogation and catch up later had they needed to find another suspect or had Stenson not confessed.

"And now, your reward for closing a case in less than 24 hours," Castle says as he tries to lighten the mood. "A full afternoon of paperwork."

"You're probably right," Beckett sighs as she sinks into her chair, pausing before scooting into her desk to address the forms. "We're back at the bottom of the rotation, so it's unlikely we'll pull another active case today. You gonna stick around?"

Watching carefully, Beckett can see the exact moment he changes his mind about how to reply. He'd looked happy, like he was going to tease, but his eyes shifted just before he started speaking. "I'll get lunch," he compromises, using an arm to gesture to the boys as well as Beckett, "then I should probably head over to the Haunt. I'm still learning how to keep that running and I've got some changes in mind."

"Having some poles installed?" she asks, trying to tease him into a happier mood, but also testing to see where Castle's redrawn the line on risqué topics.

"Beckett," he answers in exasperation, blowing out a breath that has his bangs ruffling, "the Haunt was a place of refuge, a retreat to commune with the creative spirits that helped me launch my career. If I install poles, the spirits will be too busy ogling the dancers to provide inspiration. That's why…," he starts to say, before blushing and looking away toward Ryan and Esposito.

"That's why you have an office?" Beckett guesses when he doesn't finish his statement. With a head tilt and a shrug that makes him look incredibly like a mischievous young boy, Castle opts to remain quiet.

That's what's really bothering her, she realizes. Castle's not built to be quiet. Even when – sometimes _especially_ when – he's supposed to be still. It creates a bit of a paradox: in the silence, Beckett can hear a ticking clock, a timer running down. He won't be quiet for long. So, the question is when and how will he start talking again? Will his new resolve fade, letting them drift back to normal? Will it end by turning into something new, some toned-down and repressed version of his usual self? Or will he grow too uncomfortable at stifling himself and find a new place at which to be his usual, voluble self?

"I'm gonna go get lunch," Castle says as he stands, speaking loudly enough for Esposito and Ryan to hear. As the boys start peppering him with thanks and suggestions, Beckett scolds herself for being so obvious in her introspections. He recognized what she was thinking about, of course. He's gotten very good at reading her moods and sometimes even her intentions. So, he created an opportunity to slip away, the lure of a free if early lunch more than enough to draw cover from the boys.

Castle departs a few moments later, on his way to a favored deli many blocks away since they've got some time before they'd usually break for lunch. After waiting five minutes to ensure that he's on his way, Beckett ambles over to where Esposito and Ryan are playing paper football to distribute the workload for their paperwork assignments.

"Guys," she interjects after Esposito's wing-flapping at a successful field goal subsides, "can I ask a favor?"

"Not if it involves more paperwork," Ryan grouses after shanking his own scoring attempt. "Looks like I'll already have more than my share."

"Something's up with Castle," she offers as a preface. The boys keep their eyes on the game, but they don't interrupt, so she assumes they're still listening. "I'd like to try to get to the bottom of it during lunch. Will you two make yourselves scarce? Casually?"

"Sure," Esposito replies, smiling again at another errant shot by Ryan. "We're good at being casually scarce, right Ryan?"

"I tend to be a little more formal about it," Ryan grumps in response, "but I can manage."

Shaking her head and rolling her eyes, Beckett returns to her desk and sets about processing Stenson's confession and the related forms required for the DA's office. She's so focused on plowing through her work that she's surprised when Esposito knocks on her desktop and points to the break room, where Castle's already setting out the items he foraged for them. Saving her work quickly, she's still several steps behind her colleagues when she enters the break room, which means she gets last pick of the free food. Rookie mistake, she chastises herself.

"Thanks, Castle," Ryan says as he pointedly ignores Beckett's covetous stare at his sandwich. "Sorry to run, but we've got a consult downstairs."

Though the line was delivered well, Castle still knits his brow, aware that something's amiss. "Anything interesting?" he asks in a voice that could be genuine interest or very good acting if he's looking to avoid a private lunch with his partner.

"Dunno," Espo replies with a shrug that almost dislodges one of his extra bags of chips. "Knowing those guys in Burglary, it's probably something simple."

Crap, Beckett thinks to herself. She doesn't need to see his sour look to know Castle's reaction. Mentioning Burglary is a good way to dissuade Castle from tagging along, but it didn't exactly prepare him to be any more willing to talk with her either.

"Have fun," Castle says with a wave, watching Ryan and Esposito head for the stairs. "And then there were two," he says as he turns toward Beckett.

"And then there were two," she agrees and she steps up to the counter to see what food options survived the onslaught of the rest of her team, who apparently felt entitled to ravage the lunch spread in return for agreeing to her requested favor.

"Here," Castle says, extending a bag that he'd hidden from their predation. "The guys looked famished, so I held your lunch in reserve," he offers with a smirk.

"Thanks, Castle!" Beckett replies cheerfully, touched by his thoughtfulness and ecstatic that she's not reduced to the sad ham or tuna salad sandwiches that remain. "But what about you?"

"There're two sandwiches in there," he says, pointing to the bag. "I'll take whichever one you don't want."

"What about those?" she asks, nodding toward the leftovers.

"Decoys," he answers with a laugh. "Otherwise the guys would know I was holding out on them. Besides, it's free food. Someone'll come by to claim it."

Beckett huffs in reply, nodding. The only real surprise is that someone hasn't already laid claim the extras. Thinking about that, and the parade of colleagues who are likely to traipse through the room for their own lunches, helps prompt her to make a suggestion.

"Since we're already packed, how about lunch outside?" she asks, enjoying the thought of some fresh air.

"Lead the way, detective," Castle replies gamely, grabbing some bottles of water for them.

It's a short walk to a bench around the corner and down the block from the precinct. Their timing is perfect – a beleaguered father has just managed to strap his infant into a stroller and corral his toddler as they approach, so they get access to a bench that others had avoided. Beckett's just moving to sit down before Castle catches her arm and holds her in place. Setting the water bottles on the ground, he pulls out a handkerchief and wipes the bench, mopping up bits of pureed carrots and rapidly-setting graham cracker/saliva concrete. With a flourish, he sweeps an arm toward the bench to indicate its readiness.

"Thanks, Castle," Beckett says with a wrinkled nose, looking at the soiled hanky and imagining what that would've looked like on her clothes instead.

"Old habits," he says with a laugh, balling up the handkerchief before placing it at his feet as he takes a seat and accepts a sandwich from Beckett.

His comment makes her think of a young Alexis, which in turn makes her recall yesterday's comment about why he loves his little girl so fiercely.

"So, Castle…"

"I don't want to talk about Meredith," he interrupts as he unwraps his meal.

"What?" she asks, surprised by his opening salvo. "I don't want to talk about Meredith, either, but why would you think I would?"

"You've said 'thanks' three times already today," he answers while cutting her an indulgent look. "You want something."

"That's a terrible thing to say," she replies, offended, hurt, and maybe a little embarrassed. "I was genuinely thankful each time."

"Perhaps," Castle answers with a light shrug, peeling back the top of his sandwich to investigate what lies beneath. "I didn't mean to offend. You're just usually more economical with your gratitude."

"Unless I want something, apparently," she grouses in reply, still pricked by his observation.

"Which you do," he replies, bringing them back to her attempt to start a conversation, "but apparently not a conversation about Meredith. So, back to the flirting topic, then?"

Wondering if she should be annoyed that he knows her so well, Beckett decides to think about that later so she can pursue the conversation now. "Yes," she agrees with a nod. "I'm trying to figure out how we can move forward."

"It's no big deal, Beckett," he says too lightly, taking a bit of his sandwich to draw some cover from her regard. "You'll just be less annoyed from now on," he offers with a self-deprecating shrug.

"You don't feel like you anymore, Castle," she says, getting frustrated in trying to explain herself. "Flirting is a basic form of communication for you. You use it with everyone and now I feel left out," she admits, feeling petty but still glad she actually confessed. "It's changing how we interact and I don't like it."

Castle looks sad and frustrated, too, but he answers by shrugging again. "I'm sorry, Kate, but I've explained this. I'm not going to change my mind."

"You said it was about intent," she remembers, looking for a solution. "That's why you can flirt with Andrews, right?" she asks, pausing to watch his nod. "Why can't you do that with me?"

"There's a reason I'm a writer," he explains slowly after taking a moment to think, "despite the family business." When Beckett looks confused, he tries to be more clear. "I'm not that good an actor," he says quietly before looking down again at the sandwich in his lap.

Beckett, too, looks down at her lap, taking refuge behind the drape of her hair. She hadn't let herself dwell on his comments about _intent_ , but now she can't help but wonder. There's been a tension between them from day one, based on attraction and lust. But it almost sounds like there's something else, something stronger or more permanent underlying his words. It's something she wondered about back when…

"Wait a minute," she says aloud, articulating her thoughts. "You never stopped flirting when I was with Demming."

"That's because you weren't really with Demming," Castle answers easily, unperturbed. "Not seriously."

"How would you know?" she asks, her words sounding too harsh even though her tone is curious.

"Demming was… a distraction," he says after some thought. "An antidote to spending too much time around me after your stay at the loft," he describes, smirking to himself. "Tom Demming – the kale detox drink for over-attached partners," Castle dubs, happy with the moniker.

Beckett's trying not to react, either to his bleak and maybe accurate view of Demming or to his farcical nickname, when a new thought clicks into place. "You didn't flirt with me then, either, when I stayed at the loft," Beckett recalls, thunderstruck as she makes a connection she hadn't realized.

"Not appropriate," Castle replies again, going back to his stock answer. "You had almost nothing, Beckett, because of me. So, what? I invite you into my home and hit on you when you've got nowhere else to go? That's coercion at best and really, really creepy. I just wanted you to be safe and comfortable."

"I thought it was an act," she answers in a low voice, thinking out loud. "The way you acted around me at the precinct, the way you pursued me. Because you were so different at home."

"I _am_ different at home," Castle agrees. "Just not in the way you imagined."

With that simple declaration, Castle turns back to his lunch, finishing the last few bites. Beckett's sitting quietly, picking at her food as she reconsiders their time together with this new insight into her partner. She hadn't really appreciated how her time with Demming must've hurt him, following so quickly after her stay at the loft. His comments change her perception a bit, casts their disastrous parting last summer in a different light.

"I'm gonna go," Castle says quietly, balling up the wrapping from his sandwich and reaching down to reclaim his soiled handkerchief. "Call me if a body drops tomorrow?"

"Yeah, okay," Beckett asks, still lost in thought and a little slow to get back on track. "Here, I'll take your trash," she offers, holding the empty sandwich bag out before her.

Castle drops his wrapper in the bag, but holds back the handkerchief. Noticing her wrinkled nose, he shrugs and offers a smile. "It's not a lost cause, it's just ruffled and soiled by the hallmarks of a good life," he says, flapping the cloth so that he can fold it and carefully slip it into his pocket. "A little care and it'll be good as new," he adds with a small smile. Then, with a small bow, he departs for the Old Haunt.

 _Writers_ , she thinks, adding his parting words to those she already needs to ponder.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

A/N: I didn't make it. I was hoping to finish this story tonight, but there will be at least one more chapter after tonight's quick bit. The problem is that I leave early tomorrow for a business trip down to Miami. With luck, I'll have time on the flight there or back to finish this story.

* * *

"He's in the office," the Haunt's bartender offers when he sees Beckett, pointing his thumb over his shoulder and nodding toward the stairs. "Drink for the road?" he asks with a flirty smile.

"I'm good," she replies, though a good belt of whiskey sounds perfect.

"I'd say you're _fine_ ," he replies with a wanton stare and hopeful look but getting only rolled eyes in return. She suspects Tony from McGreedy's would get a call from Castle if he caught wind of that line, but she'll let it slide. There's already enough tension with her partner without borrowing more.

She nearly slips on her way down the stairs, barely catching herself on the handrail while wondering how this isn't a safety violation. Castle's probably got a historical exception to the building code, she thinks as she rights herself and heads towards the office door that's slightly ajar. Either that or he's buddies with the inspector, she considers with an indulgent smile.

She's just knocked on the door when she hears his voice. "… _samedi à huit heures_ ," he says with a laugh. " _Au revoir_."

Then, following the rattle of his cell phone being placed on the desk, Beckett hears him step to the door, which opens promptly.

"Hey, Castle," she greets him with a smile that smothers her thoughts about why he was speaking French and making note of what she heard.

"Hey, Beckett," he replies, looking a little confused as he holds the door open for her. "Another body drop already?"

"No," she answers with a chuckle. "Just a social visit."

"Oh," he answers with a slow nod, stepping back to his desk and fooling neither of them as he settles behind its protective bulk. "Since you're already here, can I offer you a drink? I'm _definitely_ gonna have one," he admits, reaching down into the lower drawer of his desk and withdrawing a bottle of Beau James whiskey and two tumblers.

"Please," Beckett answers, her earlier wish for a fortifying drink granted.

"It'll have to be neat," Castle explains with a nod at the glasses. "I'd go upstairs for some ice, but I'm tired of Bill hitting on me," he teases with a knowing look.

Beckett huffs, unsurprised that Castle's already recognized the proclivities of his employees. And since it's unlikely that Bill's actually put the moves on his boss, Castle's comment was meant to tease and maybe put her at ease. It's a welcome start and an opening she'll gladly take.

"I wanted to talk," she prefaces, getting an unsurprised look and a dry chuckle in reply.

"That's why I wanted to drink. What would you like to know, detective?"

"Please don't do that," Beckett asks plaintively. At his confused look, she explains her request. "Don't call me 'detective.' It's putting more distance between us."

It's clear from his nod that Castle was using her title for exactly that reason, but he assents to her request without comment or explanation. "Okay, Beckett," he says while handing her a tumbler with a generous portion of amber liquid a few moments later. "Sorry for starting us off so uncomfortably. What did you want to talk about?"

"This, actually," she says, gesturing between them with her free hand. "Everything's so weird between us right now and I'm trying to find the line."

"The line?" he asks, peering into his drink as if it was a magic eight ball. ' _Reply hazy, try again,_ ' he thinks to himself with a sardonic grin.

"The line," Beckett repeats herself. "You know, what's okay and what's not, how we can talk to each other without getting all tied up."

"It's pretty simple," Castle replies with a shrug. "I'm not sure what we need to change that isn't obvious."

A little irritated that he's not engaging more in this conversation, Beckett calms herself by remembering his quiet words from their impromptu picnic lunch earlier today. He's not hiding from her. In fact, he actually opened up a bit about Meredith yesterday, which she didn't expect. Maybe that's the place to start.

"I owe you an apology," she says, disappointed anew by how surprised he looks at this opening.

"About?" he stretches out, wondering where she's going with this and still more guarded than she'd like.

"About Meredith," she says, watching him take a large gulp of his drink in response. "I don't want to talk about her," she quickly assures him, remembering his earlier comments. "But I made some assumptions about why you were divorced and I'm not sure I ever reevaluated after getting to know you better."

"Don't apologize," Castle says, looking down. "Adultery is often the symptom, not the cause, of marital discord," he says quietly, sounding like someone who's thought about this too much. She's about to interject when he cuts her off. "And that's absolutely the last thing I'm going to say about it."

Great, she thinks to herself. She'd meant to ease into a conversation and miss-stepped badly. From the set of his jaw and the alcohol he's already downed, this conversation is unlikely to get any better. Perhaps it's time for a tactical retreat. Or maybe a different approach, she decides.

"You know why we get disqualified from cases where we have a personal interest?" she asks, watching Castle's firm expression melt to one of confusion. Not surprisingly, the connection they usually share that helps them understand each other's thoughts seems to be malfunctioning lately and he's bewildered by another conversational course-correction.

"Uh, sure," he answers, deciding to follow her new direction by answering the question. "If you've got a personal stake, your motives may be jeopardized. Too easy for personal agendas to interfere."

"Exactly," Beckett agrees, nodding to Castle while taking another sip. "We're compromised. Our personal narratives get in the way, make it difficult to see the facts objectively. It's too easy to misinterpret or color the facts with background knowledge that's not actually relevant."

Castle looks pensive, nodding slowly while trying to figure out what Beckett's talking about. Finally, his visage clears as he thinks he figures it out. "It's just temporary, Beckett," he says, transferring the confusion to her. "We're working your mother's case because no one else will. When we find something to pursue, we'll bring in help."

"I'm not talking about mom's case," Beckett replies immediately, finally understanding the root of their miscommunication. "I'm talking about you."

"I'm not a case," Castle answers, rolling his eyes and sitting back in his chair, increasing the distance between them.

"You kind of are," she explains, voice growing gently, "to me, at least. You've left evidence for me to find, and I'm starting to realize I let my personal narrative affect how I interpreted or even missed it."

"I think I've been pretty clear," Castle replies, clutching his tumbler, "but that's another change we can make," he says, returning to their jumping-off point for this conversation.

The reminder seems to jar Beckett, making her look sad. "I didn't want things to change," she admits, knowing that she sounds a little naïve.

"No, I imagine you didn't," her partner answers, a bit of pique clearly inflecting his words. "But I did. Everything changes. Life is dynamic, Beckett, teeming with currents and flows that push and pull us to new experiences and, if we're lucky, growth. Spend too much time treading water in a futile bid to stay in place and you just get exhausted," he admits, sounding tired himself.

And there it is, Beckett thinks to herself, remembering her thoughts from before lunch. Nervous about how he's thinking about going forward, she decides to just ask.

"You're not happy at the precinct?" she asks, disturbed by this thought. "You wanted things to change?"

"Of course I did," he does his best not to growl in reply, draining his tumbler. Then, slowly, he rises from his chair while casting a quick glance on the desktop. From his posture, he's apparently drawing their conversation to a close.

As he's stepping around the desk, Beckett lets the bits she's learned from the last two days wash over her, everything she's learned since asking him about flirting. Looking at their conversations objectively while casting aside their personal histories and reputations makes the root cause of all this strife shockingly obvious. _Intent_ , he'd told her. It's all about the intent.

She feels dizzy, thoughts and revelations spinning through her head and stealing her balance as she rises. Perhaps it's best that Castle's calling an end to this discussion – she needs to take some serious time to follow these thoughts, to take ownership of how they got here and where they might go. She also needs some space to make sure she's not imagining things. She'd hardened herself against this possibility, using last summer's heartbreak to reinforce her thoughts about the possibility of them.

Even as that thought flits through her mind, she remembers that there's an easy way to check. If she finally understands what he meant by 'flirting with intent' and why he won't do it, then he won't confess any feelings to her for the same reason he won't flirt. And if the reasons are the same, then perhaps the answer will be the same, too.

"These changes you wanted, Castle," she begins as she walks toward him. "Will you tell me what they were?"

"Just let it go, Kate," he answers with a sigh. "It's not appropriate."

* * *

A/N: I hope I got the French translation right, but please go easy on me if not. My son's just started learning the language and he helped me with that line after his ninth day of class.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

Ridiculous, she thinks, laughing self-consciously. Her hand is actually shaking as she lifts it to knock on the front door of the loft. With her hand poised to strike, she glances at her father's watch and cringes. She's running late. In other circumstances she'd take time to cool down from what happened earlier today before meeting her partner, but it's already been two days since their talk at the Old Haunt and she knows there's no time to lose. In fact, he might've already left. So, after taking a deep breath, she knocks firmly on the door and stands ready, finally.

"Detective Beckett?" Alexis asks in surprise as she opens the door.

"Hi, Alexis," she replies with a smile that hides her nerves. She'd hoped Castle would open the door. To be honest, her mental plans for this talk always featured an otherwise empty loft.

"Please, come in," Alexis says with a slight blush as she remembers her manners. "I'll just go get Dad. He must've forgotten you were coming over."

"He didn't forget," Beckett assures the young woman. "This is a bit of a surprise," she offers with a shrug.

"Oh," Alexis replies, stopping short. Then, lifting a hand toward Castle's office, she asks: "Would you like to surprise him in person?"

Nodding, Beckett thanks Alexis with a smile. Then, knowing she's pushing her luck, she slips out of her boots before padding noiselessly over to the office. Pausing just before the open door, she looks back and waves to Alexis, who jolts into motion after realizing that she'd stood rooted in place while watching Beckett.

With another fortifying breath, Beckett knocks on the doorframe, still careful to stand out of view of his desk in case he hadn't heard her arrival.

"Come in, Pumpkin," Castle calls out from within the office.

"I asked you not to call me 'detective,' Castle," Beckett offers lightly as she enters his office. "That's no excuse for pet names, especially if they're stolen from your daughter."

"Beckett?" Castle asks, sufficiently befuddled to sound truly bewildered. He's perched behind his laptop and surrounded by bits of paper, some in notebooks or journals and some torn free. It looks like she caught him while he was immersed in his writing, which explains why he didn't notice her arrival. She feels a little guilty for disturbing his creative explosion, but she's also pleased to have the opportunity to see him like this and wishes she would've peeked through the door before knocking. Her satisfaction curdles when she takes notice of his clothes, though – he's dressed well, far more formally than would be expected for a night in.

Castle looks even more confused as he pulls himself out of his writing, inspecting his partner from head to stockinged toes. "So, not a work visit, then?" he asks with a nod towards her feet.

"I want you to flirt with me, Castle," she answers abruptly, aiming for brazen but voice warbling noticeably.

With slumping shoulders, Castle lets his head fall. Rather than banging it on the top of his desk, though, his forehead lands on the laptop's keyboard, leaving a typed record of his frustration as he lifts and drops his head several times.

"Beckett, why couldn't you be half this tenacious back…"

"It's not inappropriate," she interjects, cutting him off. "Not anymore."

Peeking up over the top of his computer, he looks ridiculous with floppy hair, raised eyebrows, and keyboard indentations on his forehead. "I think you'd better explain." Beckett had hoped for a warmer reception to her request than his tone implies, but she'd prepared for worse.

"Come sit with me?" she asks, again a little frustrated by how nervous she sounds. Castle looks like he's thinking too hard about how to reply, so she tries to make things easier. "I owe you an explanation and I want to talk. But you seem so far away behind the desk. Just like at the Haunt."

Surprised by her candor, Castle pushes himself out of his chair before coming around the desk and moving beside a plush leather reading chair. After waiting for Beckett to take a seat, he slowly lowers himself onto the chair, casually glancing at his watch as he settles.

"I know you don't have much time," Beckett says quietly. "I'd hoped to get here earlier. But I have enough time to stake a claim, to ask you to flirt with me again before it's inappropriate for either of us."

"I think I missed something," Castle answers, looking confused. "Can you try your explanation again?"

"You're seeing Aurelia Caivano tonight, right?" Beckett asks, noting the look of surprise on Castle's face. "I overheard the end of your conversation Thursday night, when I visited you at the Haunt," she explains with a sheepish shrug. "Saturday at eight o'clock, you said, according to the online translation. And she's the only woman I know with whom you'd be practicing French," she concludes with a blush.

Reddening himself at the double-entendre, Castle tries to interject. "Beckett, it's not like that. She's…"

"Wait, Castle," Beckett interrupts with hands raised. "Just wait, please? I finally figured this out and I want to explain." Leaning back in his chair, Castle cedes the floor with a nod and an open look.

"You tried to reconcile with Gina because I turned down your beach invitation, didn't you?" she asks, watching his expression instantly flick from warily curious to alarmed. "Sorry," she apologizes, "I didn't mean to put you on the spot. That was rhetorical. In fact," she adds with a stress-relieving laugh, "here's another one: would you have gone away with her if you knew that I'd broken things off with Demming so I could accept your invitation?"

" _No_ ," Castle answers immediately and emphatically, leaning forward in his chair while ignoring her comment about the question being rhetorical. " _Never_."

Even though it's what she expected to hear, Beckett still smiles in relief at the confirmation. It builds confidence in her other conclusions, gives her some stable ground from which to start. "You didn't flirt when I stayed at the loft with you and I misunderstood what that meant," she tells him, focusing on his eyes as she tells the story she's figured out. "So, I started dating Tom. I was pretty confused when you starting flirting again. I thought you were just toying with me," she confesses, finding it difficult to hold his gaze but gratified by his distressed reaction.

"Beckett, no…," he says, reaching toward her before stifling himself and clasping his hands in his lap.

"But, as you pointed out, things didn't get serious with Tom," she continues. "He wasn't what I was looking for. But I waited too long before working up the courage to talk to you," she confesses, finally looking down. "You left for the summer and I thought I'd made a mistake. I started dating Josh because you were with Gina."

"If I'd had any idea, Kate," he vows with a voice cracking with sincerity, "I never would've left."

"You better have left," she huffs miserably. "You asked me to the beach, Castle. We would've had to have left the city."

"Together," Castle emphasizes, looking awed by the concept.

"Together," Beckett confirms. Then, after taking a deep breath to reset herself, Beckett dives in to finish her explanation. "I know I've frustrated you, Castle, especially lately. I let last summer's near-miss compound my misunderstanding about your interest. So, I was seeing things through the wrong lens, like I was looking in the wrong end of a telescope. You seemed so far away," she explains, sounding a little lost.

"Just wishful thinking," he tries to joke, working to cajole her into a happier mood. "I was right there, Beckett, even when you probably wanted me much farther away."

"You _were_ right there next to me," she agrees, sounding no happier, "but you were still so far away. So, I asked a simple question about it. I thought I was imagining your lack of flirting. But then your reaction, Castle… it wasn't what I expected and I just didn't get it."

"It's not something we'd talked about," he answers, trying to provide a reason for her surprise. "But it's not something that'll change."

"I know," she answers with conviction, reaching out to clasp his hand. "I _finally_ understood when we spoke at the Haunt. While you were throwing me out, actually," she says a little challengingly, watching Castle reply with a chagrined shrug.

"So, it's time to stop the merry-go-round, Rick," she declares, squeezing his hand. "Tom, Gina, Josh… I had to say something before we repeated last summer's mistake, before you started something with Aurelia and I found myself on the outside again. Breaking things off with Josh took longer than I expected, so I know this is rushed," she explains, wondering if Castle's hearing her at all as he sits there looking stunned. "I know I've made you late and you can't cancel on her for tonight, but I was hoping maybe you'd only flirt _without_ intent," she asks shyly. "And that maybe we could talk again when you got back?"

"I can't cancel now," he agrees, looking disappointed. "But you've got it all wrong. She's just stopping by to…"

"She's coming _here_?!" Beckett says in surprise, standing up and freeing her hand. " _Now_? I didn't think you… _entertained_ at the loft," she says, unable to prevent herself from glancing at the door to his bedroom. "I should go. I don't want to see her. Here. I don't want to see her here," she fumbles, turning to leave the office. "Just…," she trails off, looking at him with concern. "Just remember what I mentioned, okay? And call me?"

"Beckett, you've got it all wrong," Castle tries to assure her, but his words hardly provide reassurance. Annoyed with himself for choosing words that could cause more confusion, he's about to clarify what he meant when three loud knocks issue from the front door of the loft.

"This is even worse than last time," Beckett groans, steepling her hands and holding them against her forehead. "I've got to get out of here," she says while dropping her hands and looking slightly panicked, turning vainly in place to find a way out that won't take her past Aurelia while ignoring Castle's efforts to catch her attention.

Her first thought is to retreat to his office, perhaps hide in his bedroom. Blushing at the ridiculousness of that idea, she turns instead toward the stairs, thinking about the spare room. But she really doesn't want to be here. Is there a fire escape? she wonders, spinning toward the windows. Screw it, she finally decides while mustering her dignity, intending to turn to the front door through which she'll depart like a normal person.

Her effort to turn is impeded, though, as Castle's finally tired of trying to get her attention with words and instead resorts to catching her shoulders with his hands and her lips with his own.

Worried that he's about to be assaulted for his presumption, Castle pulls away quickly, looking wary but also wearing a small, delighted smile. Beckett looks thoroughly flummoxed, frozen in place in some strange combination of shock, embarrassment, and bliss. They reconnect with their eyes, reassuring each other as their smiles grow, unable and unwilling to stop themselves for leaning in for another taste.

Until they're stopped by the sound of three more knocks on the front door.

"Must be Ryan," Castle mumbles, taking just a quick moment to rest his forehead against Beckett's as she chuckles. Then, after dropping a quick kiss on her forehead, he steps away but catches her hand. "Come on, this'll all be cleared up in two minutes," he promises as he pulls her toward the door.

"Dad?" Alexis asks as she begins to descend the stairs, surprised by the sight of her father holding hands with his partner.

"Are you all set up?" he asks as he reaches for the doorknob, watching his daughter approach. At her nod, he opens the door.

"Good evening, Aurelia," he greets his guest with a wide smile, offering his free hand to greet her and welcome her into his home. "Thank you for stopping by. This is Kate Beckett – I don't think you had the chance to meet her the other day."

Pulled from her perusal of Castle's visitor and the small case she carries, Beckett's pleased by his greeting. He didn't use her title, didn't describe her as a work partner, spoke only in a language she'd understand, and made sure Aurelia saw them holding hands before he let go so she could greet his guest. After a greeting clasp with Aurelia, Beckett steps back against Castle's side as if leaning against him, or feeling his arm band around her, is a normal occurrence.

"And this is my daughter, Alexis," Castle introduces, one arm gesturing while the other remains wrapped around Beckett.

Alexis steps forward to introduce herself, first in English, then in French, then in halting Italian. Aurelia laughs delightedly at the effort, warming quickly to the young woman. After only a small bit of small-talk, Alexis invites Aurelia upstairs, the two chatting on the way.

"Aurelia's a visiting artist with the New York Philharmonic," Castle explains after the two women have disappeared upstairs. "She's got some openings in her schedule and I thought Alexis might enjoy having her as a teacher."

"You are so full of it," Beckett says happily, swinging around to face him and giving him a playful nudge. "I haven't missed _everything_ you've told me in the last few years and I definitely recall your concern about the hot teacher who replaced her previous violin instructor, much to Martha's delight. How long did it take you to realize you could get a beautiful woman as an instructor?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replies haughtily, trying to look offended. The look is ruined by his wide grin as he starts walking backward. Urging Beckett to follow with a wave of the hand, he leads her into the kitchen. "My motives were completely pure," he asserts nodding in the direction of Alexis's room as the strains of music start to drift down the stairs.

"Baloney," she declares confidently, laughing as he tries to look pious. "And even if not, _her_ hopes for this arrangement were pretty clear."

"You're imagining things," he assures her as he points toward the wine rack and gets a nod in reply. "Hungry? If you were running late, you probably didn't stop for dinner, did you?"

"I'm a little hungry," she admits to his astonishment at her free admission. Watching him move to the refrigerator and pull out several items and containers, she presses her point. "And I'm not imagining things. The white peasant blouse, the patterned red skirt, those strappy heels? She was dressing to impress, Castle. And how did she know Alexis plays the violin?" she asks rhetorically. "Take it from someone who's been in her position – she's interested. Thank God I spoke up when I did." Then, out of hopeful confidence rather than insecurity, she gives her partner an out. "If that's what you'd prefer…"

"Oh, Beckett, it's _much_ too early to be asking about my preferences," he answers with a roguish grin, pausing in his efforts to fix her a meal to hand her a glass of wine. "You're gonna have to figure a way to coax that information out of me."

"Richard Castle," she replies, trying to sound affronted but unable to withhold a smile. "Are you _flirting_ with me?"

"With your eyes and ears, yes," he confirms with a confident look, "and soon," he promises with a heated stare more brazen than anything he's tried before, "with your mouth." While Beckett feels hers go dry, his lusty look turns playful as he lifts the plate holding her dinner. "And here it is. Unless you thought I was talking about something else?"

Blushing in the heat of his attention, Beckett feels joyous at the return of his attentions. "I don't know, Castle," she wonders aloud, deciding to play, "that might be more than I can _handle_ ," she replies, scorching him with her own perusal as she takes a sip of wine. "But I _do_ like to nibble," she finishes, licking an errant drop from her lips.

"See?" he replies hoarsely, saying the word a second time after his voice cracked on the first attempt. "It's just like I said at the precinct – you're a master at flirting," he praises as he leads her to the table, where he seats her before drawing up a chair beside her.

"I guess the question," she asks after thanking him for his efforts and taking a devilishly provocative nibble of a Parrano sliver, "is whether we're flirting with intent."

Castle looks like he's going to let loose more sizzling innuendo when he instead grows pensive. Rather than suave romance, his voice takes the tone of earnest confession. "It's the only way I can with you."

Beckett's shocked to feel herself tearing up, moved by his raw honesty. Wordlessly, she reaches for his hand and lifts it to cradle her cheek. With it in place, she reaches for his cheek, pausing briefly to ghost a finger over his lips on the way.

"That's how I want to be with you, too," she promises in her own earnest voice. Then, walking Castle's transition in reverse, she adopts a sinful look. "At first. Then there are other ways I want to be with you."

Cracking into a wide grin at appreciation of her wordplay, Castle turns his head to kiss her palm. "But not right away, right?" he asks ruefully, trying to be good though it runs counter to his desires. "You and Josh just ended, so we should limit ourselves to flirting for a while, right? Just to give you a chance to breathe?"

"You're that confident you'll leave me breathless?" she asks, teasing him and laughing at his low groan. "You're right. We know where we stand with each other, _finally_. We should give it a little time so that our start is about us and only us."

"A month?" Castle suggests, trying desperately to sound noble.

Coughing on the wine she'd just swallowed, Beckett takes a few moments to get herself under control. " _A month_? That's so far away."

"Two weeks?" he suggests. "That still feels like forever, but you're just coming out of something you wanted to be serious. The faster we move, the more likely someone's gonna wake up with regrets. And I don't think I could survive that," he admits heavily. "So, as anxious as I am to move ahead before Josh tries to win you back, I think we need to pace ourselves."

"He's not going to try again," Beckett insists, shaking her head. "We said some terrible things today, some harsh truths and some horrible accusations." Noticing Castle grow rigid in his seat, tense with offense on her behalf, she uses her hand to stroke his forearm to calm him down.

"We can talk about the specifics later, if you want," she says, both of them knowing that 'later' means on the other side of when they're fully together, when the pain is a little dulled by time, "but I want you to know this now: I chose our partnership over him. I wasn't sure how our talk would go, if I could hope that your _intent_ would turns its focus back to me," she confesses, looking both shy at her actions and proud of her bravery in pursuing tonight's discussion, "but I at least wanted my partner back more than I wanted Josh in my life."

"I didn't want to make you choose," Castle manages to say, though it's clear that he's uncomfortable. "I'm thrilled that you did, but I was trying to stay out of the way. Trying to act appropriately."

"You need to trust me a little more, partner," Beckett chides in a soft voice. "I agree I should've understood what you were saying more quickly than I did," she admits with a shrug, "and I'm glad to know why you were so careful – that discussion might've hurt, but it opened my eyes and I feel like I know you so much better now," she says while reaching toward his cheek again.

This time, though, instead of tracing his lips with her finger on the way to cupping his cheek, she gives his ear a gentle tug instead. "But you could've made it easier, you know," she teases with a smile. "I'm actually able to control myself and knowing how you felt wouldn't automatically mean that we'd have betrayed Josh. We could've been right here," she says while lifting her hand to gesture around the loft before grasping a wine glass and raising it as if in a toast, "without so many confusing conversations."

"Perhaps," Castle replies, lifting his own glass to tap against hers. "You might be right. But I'm not gonna complain or second-guess. We're here, together, talking about pursuing a meaningful romantic relationship – my last one, I hope," he confesses shyly, knowing he's pushing his luck but feeling it's important to make sure she knows the direction of his dreams.

"Good," she replies with a toothy smile. "So, when are we going to have our romantic date to get things started?" she asks excitedly.

"Tell you what, Beckett," he proposes, leaning in. "I'm not sure about putting something on the calendar. That's just asking for trouble – casework, unexpected visitors, kidnappings – _something_ would go wrong and get in the way. Plus," he adds, looking mischievous, "you've seen me when I'm excited. I'd probably be so hyper you'd reconsider the whole thing," he imagines to the sound of her chuckle. "So, instead, sometime after next weekend but within the month I'll sweep you off your feet and give us a night that'll start us off right," he promises, voice dropping an octave, "something we'll _never_ forget."

After a gulp of wine to make sure her own voice doesn't crack, Beckett sizes up her partner and prepares her counteroffer. "I like that idea, Rick," she purrs, "but I think you've gotten it backwards. We're waiting because of my situation, right? So, _you_ should be ready for _me_ to surprise you."

"You already have," he answers in the same low, gravelly tone while he lifts her hand for a kiss. "But if you'd like to do it again, I'm all yours. We can spend time together before then, though, right?"

"In public, I think," Beckett agrees, blushing. "Or here watching movies with Alexis or Martha. But I think we're likely to get carried away if we're on our own in some secluded, cozy place…"

"Yeah," Castle agrees with a gulp. "That sounds terrible," he replies in a tone that suggests he wouldn't mind finding himself in such a 'terrible' situation.

"Speaking of which," she replies with equal regret, "I think I need to go home." Seeing his heartbroken look, she reaches out and clasps hands with him. "I've already had a glass of wine and I'm feeling so brave and happy with how tonight's gone that it's _very_ easy to imagine things getting heated tonight." Based on Castle's hungry look, he's thinking this is a reason to stay, not to leave, though she knows he'll hold himself in check. His insistence on 'what's appropriate' has certainly revealed that aspect of his personality.

"This way," Beckett rationalizes, "you can chat with Alexis and Aurelia about her lessons. And she can have some time to talk to you without me being territorial."

"I _like_ _it_ when you're territorial," he interjects, looking pleased. "Even though you don't need to be."

"Oh, Castle," Beckett says with a laugh, "I'll always be territorial with you. This week has taught me a lot about how you treat relationships. Hearing you unwound concerns I didn't even know I had," she confesses, voice laden with regret and surprise. "But I'll still guard you jealously," she finishes with a laugh.

"And I'll love it," he agrees with a dopey smile.

"So, chat with Alexis' new instructor, spend some time with your girl, then maybe get some rest?" she suggests. "I'm going to brunch with my father at the ungodly weekend hour of ten-thirty and I'm hoping you'll join us," she offers with a blush. "I was thinking about hitting a bookstore and the open-air market after, if you're interested."

"Beckett," Castle manages to say after marveling at her invitation, "I am _very_ interested," he says as he stands and offers her a hand. They hold the clasp as they walk to the door, where Beckett uses the excuse of donning her boots to lean against him, 'slipping' a few times as she loses her balance. She finally manages to complete the task, after which they have to admit that they've run out of reasons to delay her departure.

"Thank you," he says as he steps to the door. "For being brave enough to visit tonight," he explains. "For stopping the merry-go-round and giving us a chance."

"Thank you for talking to me," she returns the gratitude. "We've come a long way this week."

"And we're going to go a lot farther," he promises, looking at her intently enough that she's almost reconsidering her decision to depart.

"We'll be around other people tomorrow, so we can take it slow," she reminds them both after clearing her thoughts with a gentle shake of her head. "But you're still gonna flirt with me, right?"

"Trust me, Kate," he vows, sounding committed and excited, "that is my fondest intent."

* * *

A/N: Apologies for the delay, but the business and related social events took a lot out of me the last couple days. I'm going to mark this one complete, though I'm starting to wonder about what kind of surprise Kate might devise. I don't write M fics, though, and that's pretty clearly where that outing is aimed, so perhaps I'll leave open to your imaginations.

I'm not sure what's next. I was going to pursue a story that's been in my head, but now I'm wondering about the Halloween fic event. I'll figure it out while I anxiously await the onset of Virtual Season 9.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

A/N: So, it turns out that I was a little a premature on calling this one complete. So, I've pulled that note and we're back to a work in progress. At least one chapter left.

* * *

" _There_ he is," Beckett laughs as she lifts a hand to wave down her partner. "He's not much of a morning person, but apparently he moves even slower if we're not on a case," she speculates.

Castle's running late and looking a bit flustered, but he still looks good. After their talk last evening, she's been looking forward to seeing him again, distracted by smiles and laughs that erupt with little provocation. Even now, she's so focused on his approach that she misses her father's look of confusion. She doesn't miss Castle's uncomfortable look, though. Perhaps it's the 'meet the father' setup, but perhaps not.

"Sorry I'm late," he apologizes as he approaches the table and stops awkwardly next to the booth, straightening as if presenting himself for inspection.

"And without coffee?" Beckett teases as she scoots out of the booth and offers him a quick hug, unable to stop herself from dropping a kiss on his cheek. Smirking at his blossoming blush, she finishes her thought. "You're really asking for trouble. Good thing we've already had some caffeine," she says, gesturing to the table. And her confused father.

"Oh my gosh!" she exclaims, slipping back into the speech patterns she'd adopted to keep her parents happy back when she was a young woman. "I haven't introduced you. Dad, this is Rick."

With a look that shifts from confused to discerning, Beckett's father slides out of his side of the booth and offers a hand. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Castle."

The formal greeting makes Castle blush even more deeply than did Beckett's greeting kiss. "Nice to meet you, sir. And please," he stammers, "call me Rick."

"Name's Jim, son," Beckett's father replies with a huff and a twist of his lips, cutting a quick look at his daughter.

"Sir?" Beckett laughs, sliding into the booth before tugging on Castle's hand to get him to follow. "You scared Castle, dad – he's usually much less formal."

"Father's prerogative," Jim explains, studying Castle again. "Part of the inspection process for men who're dating my daughter," he continues, ignoring his daughter's scoffing eye roll.

"Then he's got another week or so," she interjects, nudging Castle with her shoulder and smiling happily. "We're not dating yet."

Jim, who's already had several surprises, sits back in his seat at this comment. First, his daughter mentioned a friend would be joining them, which was unprecedented. He knew she'd been seeing a doctor, but his daughter hasn't presented any suitors for familial review. Then, the friend shows up and it's Rick Castle, not the doctor. And now they say they're not together even though she greeted him with an uncharacteristic public display of affection.

"Not dating yet?" he asks, trying to understand this situation.

"Soon," Castle answers, looking a little dopey himself. "And I'm looking forward to it," he confesses shyly, at which point Beckett leans against him and lets her head fall to his shoulder for a moment. "So, fire away, sir – I mean Jim. Let's save some time and get the inquisition out of the way."

"The what?" Beckett and her father ask, looking at each other in curiosity.

"The inquisition!" Castle answers, a weird combination of nervous and excited. "You know," he says while gesturing to Jim, "the inspection, the questions, the veiled threats about treating your daughter like a princess, the reminder that I'd better work hard to make sure she never realizes I'm not good enough for her."

"Castle," she replies in exasperation, "this isn't the 18th century."

"Yeah," Jim adds with a raised brow and a smile. "I've heard about you for years, Rick, and I can't imagine there's anything I could do or say that Katie hasn't already covered."

"You can't be serious?" he asks incredulously, swiveling his head from father to daughter and back. "You can't just _accept_ me! That's not how this works."

"Castle, you're being ridiculous," Beckett laughs, rolling her eyes and stacking her menu on the table.

"No way," he replies stubbornly. "I've got a teenage daughter," he reminds Beckett and informs Jim. "The boys are already calling and texting and IM-ing and whatever-elsing my girl. Wait, no," he corrects himself immediately. "There'd better not be any whatever-elsing," he declares with a shudder. "You need to grill me so I know how it's done. Right, Becky?" he appeals to the ponytailed waitress who's just approached to take their order, reading the plastic nametag on her uniform. In her early- or mid-twenties, their server looks like she's either a college student or recent graduate, still energetic and engaging.

"What's that?" she asks gamely, turning to look at Castle.

"See this beauty next to me?" he asks her, ignoring Beckett's embarrassed sigh and blush as well as Jim's interested look at seeing his daughter discomfited. "I've pursued her for _years_. I might finally be winning her over and now I'm meeting her father for the first time. What kind of questions do you think he should ask me?"

"Really?" Becky asks, not sure she's not part of a prank or a game.

"Really," Castle assures her. "And don't tone it down – hit me with the truth," he encourages, "what you'd want to know if someone was wooing you."

"Do you have a job? How do you treat people? How do you treat animals?" Becky asks, warming to this conversation. "Are you looking for something serious? Do you know how to handle something serious? Do you respect her? Does she respect you?"

"Exactly," Castle nods with a smile. " _That's_ how this is supposed to…"

"Do you read, go to the theater, go dancing? Or do you just say you do but then end up on the couch watching TV?" Becky continues, enjoying this immensely. "Do your interests match? Your lifestyles? Your hopes, dreams, and aspirations? Do you relax the same way?"

"Okay, yeah," Castle says uncomfortably while looking to Jim and getting only a shrug in response. "That's probably enough…"

"Is the age difference a problem?" an older waitress adds as she approaches, having overheard the conversation. This time, it's Castle emitting a low groan of embarrassment. "Do either of you have kids? Exes? How will that affect your relationship?"

"Are you looking for a life partner or a roll in the hay?" asks the elderly woman from the next booth, getting in on the action while her husband drops his head into his hands in mute acceptance of her interfering. "Are you interested in her because she's beautiful on the outside or have you actually gotten to know her? Are you gonna be there where you're my age or are you just a tomcat pretending to have manners to get into her pants?"

With her face pressed into his shoulder, Castle can't tell if Beckett is laughing or shaking in mortification as the litany continues. Either way, he's got to get control of this situation before…

"Will you be her partner?" Jim asks, his quiet demeanor silencing the crowd of interested onlookers while drawing them in. "Will you support her when she's weary and cheer her when she's down? Will you be her biggest advocate, her staunchest defender? Will you have the courage to stand up to her and the wisdom to know when to do so? Will you fill the gaps in her heart, provide the caring support that she might've tried to convince herself she doesn't need? Will you stay," he asks gently, "when everyone else in her family has left her one way or the other?" he asks, and now Castle's certain he feels tears on his shoulder. "Will you love her?"

Jim's final question settles like a blanket, smothering all sound. Castle finds himself the center of attention, his request for Jim to grill him about his intentions backfiring spectacularly. Beckett must be horrified by the attention, so he needs to bring it to an end. He can either stand up and usher her out, try to defuse the situation with a joke, or embrace the opportunity. Sometimes, he thinks ruefully, the best way around is through.

"May I?" he asks her gently.

"You go ahead," she whispers. "I'm gonna stay right here."

After a quick nuzzle to her head, Castle slowly turns and looks around those watching, before finally settling on Jim.

"I have a job," he starts slowly, trying to recall the barrage of questions. "I do it at night so I can spend my days with her. I think I treat people pretty well – I try to make them laugh and I forgive easily."

"Too easily, sometimes," Beckett agrees, though just for him since her nodding head is still pressed into his arm, muffling her words.

"I've never really had animals – we moved too often when I was young and I can't be a good owner now with my schedule. But in the future…," he trails off, picturing a scene that includes kids but leaving that out of his story, "I imagine dogs and cats and even some goldfish that'll need to be surreptitiously replaced to avoid too-early lessons in mortality."

That gets a chuckle from Becky, who looks like she might've been tricked this way herself.

"My respect for my friend is deep, wide, and probably more public than she'd prefer," he says with a laugh as she again nods into his arm. "And despite being a lout when I first met her, I think she's found some aspects of me worthy of respect, too." At this remark, Beckett turns further into him, draping an arm across him so to confirm his comments.

"I read voraciously, go to the theater _far_ more than is healthy, and dance like everyone's watching me," he laughs, getting some sympathetic chuckles. "But I watch TV, too, especially science fiction and, when no one's around, romantic comedies. I suspect that's all true for my friend, too, excepting her predilection for horrible soap and space operas." This pulls a fond smile from Jim and a low growl from his daughter.

"The age difference _is_ a problem," he goes on to admit, "maybe our most serious. But she likes my boyish charm and I'm getting more mature every day," he mugs. "Who knows? I might catch up to her sometime."

"It's hopeless," Beckett chides, this time loud enough to be heard and earn some laughs of her own.

"And as for family, she already owns mine," he laments facetiously. "They _adore_ her. The only problem on that front is that they already side with her, so I'll be woefully outnumbered on pretty much every major decision once we're together," he finishes fondly, causing Beckett to curl in again.

He pauses, turning to her and whispering for her ears alone. "Are you okay with this? We're almost done, but we're up to heavy stuff. And we're not even dating yet! I don't want to scare you off."

"Don't stop," she whispers hoarsely. "Tell me, Rick. Tell me our story."

Dropping a kiss on her head, he turns back to face Jim, fully aware that the eavesdroppers are listening, too.

"I've known for… a long time that I want to be her partner in all aspects of our life. After our years together, it feels like I know her better than I know myself. I've learned when to push and when to wait, when to be quiet," he continues despite her snort, "and when a diversion will be appreciated, even if she pretends otherwise. And even when I'm not with her, she's there. That voice in my head, the one that tells me what I should do, how I should behave…"

"The one you ignore?" she asks, again prompting smiles.

"… it speaks with her voice," he finishes, ignoring her jibe. "And it goes both ways, I think," he adds, sounding hopeful. "I'm pretty good at hiding in plain sight, at being the funniest kid in the room," he admits, hoping the tightening of her arm around him signals the sting from a barb like that is gone, replaced by her new perceptions of him. "But she's learned how to see through the jokes. It's terrifying," he confesses, looking down.

"But it won't scare me away," he vows with quiet determination. "I have stayed and I will stay. I'll help her cope with the people she's lost and welcome the people who've come back," he rephrases, risking a glance at a stunned Jim Beckett before turning to the last, most important question.

"Will I love her?" he repeats the final inquiry, feeling Beckett still at his side. " _Always_."

The certainty of his final word seems to ring out, prompting wistful smiles or morose looks of loss from all who hear it, each depending on their own circumstances. Though it feels like minutes, the silence lasts only for a few seconds.

"Well, he's got _my_ blessing!" the old woman in the booth next to them declares loudly, breaking into a hearty laugh. Her outburst starts a round of chuckles and good cheer that provides them all with an opportunity to release some of the emotion that's built since Castle's ridiculous request for assistance that started them all on this path.

"Okay, okay," Becky interjects with a shooing motion, "everyone back to normal. My poor guests here haven't even ordered yet!"

As the restaurant and its patrons return to the regular routine, Castle graces the waitress with an appreciative smile. "Sorry for putting you on the spot like that," he apologizes with a light blush. "That didn't quite work out the way I thought it would," he admits with a laugh, pulling chuckles from Beckett and her father.

"Does it ever?" Beckett asks as she finally releases his arm and dabs at her eyes with her napkin.

"Not often," he admits with a smile. "Makes life more interesting."

Chuckling at Castle's comment and the light elbow he earned from his partner as a result, Jim tries to get them back on track. "I'll have the number two, please," he says to Becky. "Over-easy with ham and an English muffin."

Becky jots down his order before turning back to the trouble-making side of the table. "And you?"

"Well," Castle interjects before Beckett can say anything. "She's gonna order the egg-white omelet with mushrooms and tomatoes, wheat toast, and strawberry jam," he says while watching his partner's face carefully, grinning when he can tell she's stifling a smile. "But she wants the Belgian waffle with strawberries. So, why don't you bring that for me and I'll pretend not to notice when half of it goes missing?"

"Show-off," she pretends to complain after nodding to Becky, nudging him again as she breaks into a smile. "That's gonna cost you more than half of your waffle."

"I'll manage," he replies happily, staring at her for a moment before suddenly realizing that he's neglecting her father. Turning back to look at him, he sees a very familiar smirk.

"You've been married before, right, Rick?" he asks, waiting for Castle's nod. "Then you should know better – you need to pace yourself. These heartfelt declarations before you're even dating just build expectations for later. How are you going to follow this up?"

"I'll manage," he repeats again. "It's something I can think about while Kate's doing paperwork."

"Finally!" Beckett says happily. "If you're not going to help with the paperwork, this is an okay use of your time. Now let me out, please," she requests, scooting over, "I need to clean up."

Castle pulls himself from the booth before offering a hand to help his partner rise to her feet. After dropping another kiss on his cheek, she's off to the restroom.

"Rick," Jim says seriously as Castle returns to his seat, "I know you and Katie have talked, that you know about what happened to Jo and what I did afterward." Jim's talking quietly and low, making clear his desire to finish this before his daughter returns. "I lost the right to comment on her choices, professional or otherwise, when I abandoned her. I wasn't kidding when I said that Katie can take care of herself. But, for whatever it's worth, you've got my blessing. Just treat her well."

"Of course," Castle stammers in reply, more touched than he'd expected by Jim's confidence.

"It won't be easy," Jim warns unnecessarily. "We Becketts are an obstinate lot."

"Really," Castle replies in a flat tone. "I hadn't noticed."

Getting a smiling nod in return, the men lapse into companionable silence as they sip coffee. In only a few minutes, Beckett returns, sliding into the booth and pushing Castle further in rather than waiting for him to rise and let her in. He's pretty sure it was an excuse to press herself against him, but he's not quite willing to voice his theory in front of her father.

Which she knows, the little minx. Her compressed smile teases and taunts, even as he tries to behave himself in front of Jim. Thankfully, Becky bounces over with their food moments later, happily distributing both food plates to Beckett and an empty salad plate to Castle, relegating him to whatever Kate is willing to send his way. Both Becketts laugh at Castle's put-upon sigh, though Beckett graciously slides his waffle over to him after stealing a plump strawberry from the top and popping it into her mouth with a quick wink.

Their meal passes quickly and companionably, interrupted occasionally by other patrons who feel compelled to stop by their table to wish them luck before departing. The only blemish on the morning is the good-natured dispute between Jim and Castle about who gets to pick up the tab, which Beckett finally resolves by assigning a split – Jim gets the bill and Castle gets the tip (an arrangement upon which Castle insisted after putting the poor woman on the spot with his question).

"We need to settle up," Jim says with a jolt after checking his watch. "It's already past twelve and I told some associates I'd swing by the office this afternoon. Sorry to run out, but I'll leave you two to your non-date," he offers in an indulgent tone before raising his hand to catch Becky's attention.

"Oh, sorry," she says as she hops over to the table. "But you're all set. Your neighbors," she says with a nod toward where the elderly couple had been sitting before they left, "covered your tab."

Castle smoothly reaches a hand out to Becky, palming some cash and transferring it as easily as if he was a spy passing along state secrets. "Thanks for being such a good sport and for taking such good care of us."

"My pleasure," Becky replies, dropping into a faux-curtsy. "It was certainly interesting!" she fires off with a smile before turning to attend to another table, stumbling a few steps after she checks the denominations Castle pressed into her hand.

Beckett's elbow to his side reveals that she noticed Becky's reaction, and she's not alone. Looking across the table, Castle sees Jim wearing another look he's seen on his partner – mild annoyance.

"We were splitting this, right?" Jim asks while reaching for his wallet.

"Nope," Castle replies happily. "I cover the tip. A deal's a deal," he says resolutely. "Besides, didn't you say I need to show the courage to stand up to a Beckett?"

"You forgot the wisdom part," Jim replies, stilling his movement for his wallet but looking no less annoyed.

"He does that frequently," Beckett adds with a sweet smile for Castle's scoff.

Finally rolling his eyes and accepting defeat, Jim slides out of the booth, starting the group's departure. "Alright, but no arguments – next time's on me. Even if you aren't dating," he adds with an eye roll.

"Looking forward to it," Castle replies honestly, extending a hand to Jim. Then, suspecting that the Becketts might like a moment alone, he visits the restroom to wash his hands. After a quick check of his email to give them a little more time, he wanders out of the restaurant to find his partner waiting on a bench outside, head thrown back to bask in the sun.

"So, bookstore?" she asks as he extends his hands to help her rise, wrapping an arm around his and tugging him northward.

It's a beautiful day, bright and sunny but not yet hot. The store is many blocks away, but they're content with a slow stroll.

"So," Beckett says somewhat abruptly after the first block, "We need to talk." When he casts a curious eye her way, she guides them through a crosswalk and begins to explain. "I appreciate you giving me and dad a little time at the restaurant – he had something he wanted to say."

Knowing his partner well enough to anticipate a little playfulness, he plays along. "I suspected. Bad news, right?"

"I'm afraid so," she replies solemnly, doing an admirable job at hiding her smile. "Brunch was a disaster. Whatever you said while I was in the restroom must've been deeply offensive. He's forbidden me from seeing you."

"It was all part of my plan," Castle offers, nodding slowly. "I've heard all about Rebel Becks. I figured my best shot with you was to make sure your dad didn't approve of me."

"Belgian waffle with a side of forbidden fruit?" Beckett replies, her smile finally breaking free.

"Hey, I'm okay with whipped cream if you are," he offers gallantly.

" _There_ it is," she laughs. "Your powers of flirtation were a bit absent this morning. Did dad really scare you?"

"Who needs flirting when you're boxed into a full-on declaration?" Castle laments, still a bit shell-shocked from their pre-meal discussion. "But, yeah, I tried to keep things low-key for your dad. That's okay, right?"

"No misunderstandings this time," she answers, squeezing his arm. "And thank you," she adds, growing shy. "I know it's early days for us and you might not've been quite ready to make a speech about your intentions. It was very sweet."

"I'm just glad you didn't run for the door," he laughs, a bit self-consciously. "I'm not sure I would've had the courage if I didn't have you trapped on the inside seat of the booth."

"I was happy where I was," she tries to assure him before folding at his incredulous look. "Maybe a bit uncomfortable with the attention," she admits with a tremulous laugh of her own, "but happy. After the beautiful things you said, though, I do have one question for you." Waiting for him to give her an inquisitive look, she pulls them out of the flow of pedestrian traffic into the alcove of an office building. "Why are we waiting?"

She'd expected a look of delight at the question, or perhaps one of exasperation. But as she looks at Castle, she's reminded of how he looked when he arrived at brunch this morning. When he was late…

"So, full disclosure," he starts hesitantly, sounding nervous already. "I know this will shock you, given my marital history, but I've made some mistakes in my relationships," he plays off with a shrug. "I'm not always great at figuring out what kind of things need to be discussed or not. But I _really_ want us to work," he admits, slowly reaching out for her hands.

"Hey, Castle," she says gently, clasping his hands and trying to coax him along, "it's me. I'm somewhat used to you getting yourself into trouble. Talk to me. Let's manage your mischief."

Huffing a laugh, he looks at their entwined hands for a few moments before raising his eyes to her. "I got an unexpected call this morning, asking me to coffee this afternoon," he explains slowly. "I need us not to be dating when I go."

"You know," Beckett answers slowly, "before our talks this week, I think I would've jumped to a pretty big conclusion based on a statement like that," she admits, clearly looking troubled but trusting that he's genuinely interested in pursuing a relationship with her. "But you just confessed eternal love in front of my father and a restaurant full of strangers. And after all your comments about what's appropriate…," she trails off, paling as she realizes who must've called him. "No. No, he didn't."

"Yes, yes he did," Castle replies with a shake of my head. "So, any thoughts on how to deal with Josh?"


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

What a difference a day makes, Beckett smirks to herself as she approaches the door to the loft. Almost exactly 24 hours ago, she raised a trembling hand to knock on Castle's door and start a conversation that finally cut through years of subtext, confusion, and misunderstandings. She smiles again, recalling how brave she'd been, how well the evening had gone. Her satisfaction for that talk is matched only by pride in Castle's courage this morning when his typical playfulness created a situation he didn't exactly anticipate. But the things he'd said, the certainty in his voice… it was all a balm to her cautious soul.

Right up until he told her about who'd called him, she recalls, her consternation from that development leading her knocks on the loft's door to be a little more forceful than preferred. But his texted **I'll call you after dinner** didn't exactly satisfy her curiosity about his meeting with Josh. Tired of waiting and encouraged by how well her last visit here went, she decided she'd seize the initiative and stop by.

"Detective Beckett?" Alexis greets her, contributing to the sense of déjà vu. "You must be here to see our little hooligan?" she asks with perched brow.

"That doesn't sound good," Beckett answers in a low tone as Alexis ushers her into the loft. "Everything okay? Should I be expecting uniformed colleagues to show up behind me?"

"He's in time out," Alexis says sternly, pointing toward his office. "No dessert and no TV. _Honestly_ ," she says in exasperation, shaking her head and pursing her lips.

Recalling Castle's many comments about how his daughter raised him, Beckett stifles her smile at this piece of confirmation. "Are visitors allowed, or should I come back some other time?"

" _You're_ always welcome," she answers enthusiastically, dropping her scowl as she turns to face Beckett. " _You_ can almost get him to behave," she finishes with a nod of approval. "Just don't go easy on him. I'll be studying," she says with a general wave toward the stairs, "but call out for me if he gives you any nonsense. Well," she corrects herself, "any more nonsense than usual."

With her admonition delivered, Alexis drifts toward the stairs, apparently returning to her room. The loft is otherwise quiet, so Martha must be out. So much for keeping their private time to a minimum for a little while.

Beckett again removes her boots and pads over to his office, deciding to indulge in what she'd imagined yesterday. If she's lucky, she'll get a peek at Castle hard at work, the mad architect building the alternate reality in which Nikki and Rook frolic. Or, perhaps he's sulking, trying to watch Netflix on his tablet while eating hoarded, contraband candy bars in adolescent reaction to Alexis' efforts at discipline.

As she peeks through the door to his office, she sees that both guesses were wrong. The office lights are out, so the only illumination comes from the dimmed kitchen light that slips through the gaps in the bookshelf walls. Castle's again at his desk, but the laptop is closed and the tablet is nowhere in sight. She can only make out his outline, but it looks like he's wearing headphones, his feet resting on the desk as he leans back in his chair. He's either asleep or drifting in whatever music he's listening to, but either way he's oblivious to nearby distractions. This explains why he didn't answer her texts. But it also provides the chance for a little mischief of her own.

Silently, she pads into the office, careful to move slowly as her eyes adjust to the low lighting. She's trying to decide whether to scare him, which would've been the default before yesterday, or to recall his attention with a gentle hand to the cheek, or by ruffling his hair, or by sitting in his lap…

Her daydreams come crashing down as she gets close enough to make out his features. What she'd assumed was shadow instead looks to be a massive black eye, a swollen purpling that looks like it's still blossoming to cover most of his face around his left eye.

"Castle!" she cries out in alarm. "What happened?!" Even as she hears the words leave her mouth, she realizes she made a terrible mistake.

What happens next is no surprise. Shocked alert by her sudden and unexpected appearance and outburst, Castle's eyes shoot open as he looks around in alarm. The motion disturbs his balance, so there's a brief moment while he's perched in equilibrium, arms windmilling and hands scrabbling for purchase before he topples backwards, knocking the back of his head as he falls.

"Castle!" Beckett cries out again, rushing around the desk to crouch next to where he's crashed onto the floor.

"Ow," he groans, rubbing the back of his head. " _That_ certainly didn't help my headache."

"I'm so sorry," she apologizes, gently moving his hand so that she can run her hand through his hair and check the area he just injured. "At least for this bump. I guess I need to hear the story about your shiner to know if I should apologize for that one, too."

Castle grimaces at her comment, knowing there's no way to avoid telling the story. So much for taking a little time so that he could be honest if he told her he was feeling fine. "This is nothing," he says with a gesture to his eye. "You know me, Beckett – I know how to take a punch. One of the few things I managed to learn in school," he mugs, grimacing when his smirk aggravates his headache.

"Come on, slugger," Beckett suggests gently, drawing a groan of protest from Castle as she stills the hand that was carding his hair. "Let's get some ice for your battle wounds, then you can tell me what happened. Go sit on the bed," she suggests, nudging him toward his bedroom door. "I'll get an ice pack."

"It's on the desk," Castle answers, wobbling a bit as he stands. By the time he sits on the end of his bed, Beckett's standing in front of him with ice pack in hand.

"Front or back?" she asks, wondering where the pack would provide most relief.

"I've spent _years_ pondering that exact question. They're both so appealing," he answers while gazing at her and making a circular motion with his hand to encourage her to spin in place, "that I can't pick a favorite, Beckett." When she huffs in exasperation at the inappropriate timing of his comment, he shrugs and defends himself. "Hey, you _wanted_ me to flirt, remember?"

"Don't make me regret it," she answers, succeeding (mostly) in containing her smile. "I also wanted you to skip your meeting with Josh, take me with, or for you to wear a wire, not that you listened to me then," she continues, sounding increasingly stern. "I didn't say anything about a brawl. If you look like this, he must be a _mess_."

"There was no _brawl_ ," he replies, affronted. "As I tried to explain to my incredulous daughter, I met an acquaintance for coffee. The discussion get a little heated and he lost his temper. To be honest, I don't blame him for lashing out. But that doesn't mean I returned fire."

Shocked by her partner's restraint, especially after seeing him defend himself (or her) over the years, Beckett feels a deeper need to understand what happened. "I think you need to tell me the story, Castle," she says as she sits on the end of his bed, tugging on her partner so that he falls sideways, ending up with his head in her lap. Closing the eye that she's not covering with the ice pack, he lets out a deep, satisfied sigh. "And let's keep it non-fiction, okay?" she requests, prompting him to speak.

* * *

"I'm sorry, am I late?" Castle asks as he approaches the table in the little café near Josh's hospital.

"No," Josh replies while standing to greet Castle. The single word response is enough to detect a tightness in the tone of the response. As a surgeon who relies on his hands, though, Josh avoids the tired cliché of trying to crush Castle's hand during their greeting handshake. "It didn't take me as long as I thought to finish my rounds. I ordered your regular," he says with a casual wave at the tall coffee across the table from him as he reclaims his seat.

"Is it poisoned?" Castle jokes as he sits. From his confused and slightly offended look, it seems that Josh can't quite tell if he's serious.

"The hospital's across the street if so," he answers. "But Kate's been here before and been fine afterwards."

"You know my coffee order," Castle says after a sip, letting the reference to Beckett pass without comment, "and you knew my unlisted phone number." This, in particular, had incensed Beckett, who suspected Josh of an unforgiveable breach of her privacy. "I'm flattered by your interest, but there are more alluring ways of catching my eye, you know."

Reddening, Josh absorbs Castle's comment without immediate reply. After a sip of his own drink, he lowers it to the table as he lowers the tone of his voice. "Cute. But we're not here to discuss my interest in you. We're here to discuss your interest in my girlfriend."

With some effort, Castle resists the urge to challenge Josh's characterization of Beckett. Sticking with his original plan, he instead opts for simple honesty. But not until Josh is a little more direct about what he wants to know.

"What would you like to know, Doctor?" Castle asks, surprising Josh with both the use of his title and his apparent openness.

"What do I want to know?" Josh parrots in reply, annoyed that Castle's pretending to be slow. "I want to know why you decided to interfere in our relationship," he replies, growing agitated. "I want to know why you were only interested in her when she was happy. I want to know how long you're going to play with her before you're off to the next pretty thing that catches your eye," he nearly spits out, already losing his temper and drawing some wary looks from other in the small shop.

Castle sits in silence for a few moments, taking another sip of his coffee. It's not quite as bad as the sludge that Beckett endured before he started shadowing her, but it's not much better. Still, he'll choke it down to help the pacing of this meeting.

"I owe you an apology," he offers once Josh seems to have settled a bit. " _Not_ ," he offers sternly, "for any of the nonsense you just insinuated. But for giving you false hope."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Josh growls in reply, hand tightening on his coffee cup in a way that suggests it might soon be inadvertently crushed.

"I've always been drawn to Beckett," Castle confesses with a helpless shrug. "From day one. I made some mistakes early in our acquaintance. Some were honest," he offers, "and some were misunderstandings that I wasn't smart enough to see or correct. So, we've struggled, grown apart before coming back together. She met you during one of those gaps, one of those times we weren't on the same page."

"So, what?" Josh replies, incredulous. "You two are just going to keep rebounding back and forth, and whoever gets caught in the middle gets hurt?" He starts to lift his drink before slamming it down on the table. "No. No, that doesn't make any sense. It's all you – you toy with her then throw her away until she might be happy with someone else. Then the… the insecure playboy has to make a desperate play to keep her close."

"You never really knew her at all, did you?" Castle asks, again ignoring the personal attack. "Does Beckett seem like someone who puts up with people who treat her poorly? Does she seem like someone who would make herself vulnerable once, much less repeatedly?" he asks in awe, shaking his head at the foreign concept.

" _I_ didn't know her?" Josh rails, tired of being on the defensive. " _You_ can't even use her name. It's Kate, by the way, in case you were wondering."

"It is," Castle replies equably. "And sometimes that's the right name to use. Names have meaning. They have power. For our conversation right now, she's Beckett," he tries to explain, barely managing to refrain from calling her 'my Beckett,' which would really set off the fireworks.

"So, she's Beckett now and at work, but Kate when you're in bed together?" Josh asks, trying to understand the point. "I suppose I should ask about whether I need to be tested for anything?"

This time it's Castle who's clenching his hands, using the motion to distract himself from what he'd really like to do with his hands. But, he realizes, he promised himself to be as honest as possible. So…

"I'm not prone to violence," he says softly, still clenching and unclenching his hands, "even though the sheer stupidity and ignorance in your accusation just begs for a physical response. I haven't slept with Beckett. I'm not dating her…"

"But you want to," Josh interjects.

"Of course I do," Castle replies with a disgusted roll of his eyes. "I've already told you that. But after the _incident_ ," he says, lowering his voice in recollection of the bomb scare that could still start a panic, "when you stayed, she said she wanted to try to make things work with you. I respected that. I made _absolutely sure_ I didn't do anything to interfere with her relationship."

With a manic laugh that catches the attention of some people waiting in line for their coffee, Josh sneers in response. "Didn't do anything to interfere? She hasn't been the same since then. You did something, said something…"

"How could she not be different?" Castle asks with genuine curiosity. "We were at the epicenter of a major…," he trails off, looking around and watching his words – Beckett wouldn't exactly be pleased if he said anything to bring Fallon back into their lives. "It was life or death. Literally, with a handful of seconds making the difference. That affected me and I'm damn sure it affected her."

"So, you're just going to sit there and deny that her changes, her decision to… reconsider our relationship has nothing to do with you?" Josh asks, frustrated that Castle seems to have answers that keep shifting the discussion away from his own actions.

"And she says _I_ don't listen?" Castle grumbles as he scrubs his face with his hand. "She told me that she was investing in your relationship, so I stepped back. _Completely_. I gave her what she said she wanted," he says with a casual shrug that fails at hiding his bruised heart. "So, if things didn't work out after that, you need to look into a mirror rather than across a table for someone to blame."

"You can sit there and play innocent," Josh growls with rancor pointed enough to catch the attention of some nearby patrons, "but you're not fooling anyone. If you really wanted to let her go, you would've left the precinct, stopped following her around and poisoning our relationship by making it clear she always had another option," he charges, leaning in when he sees Castle flinch, "a safety net, a back-up plan, a _runner-up_ ," he finishes with vindictive flair.

Castle lifts his coffee again to hide his grimace at the shots that land far too close to his insecurities. Surely, his self-assigned penance must almost be done, he thinks to himself. He's not sure he can take much more of this conversation.

"I agreed to meet you this afternoon," Castle says slowly, ignoring Josh's look of annoyance that the conversations seems to have shifted, "because I know how much it hurts when she leaves. You have my sympathy," he says earnestly, noting Josh's expression to change to one of confusion at this apparent intimacy. "We all want to hold the star, even if it burns our hands," he can't help but add, thinking aloud about how he sees Beckett.

"That said, though," Castle continues, his voice growing harder, "it wasn't my job to make your relationship work. If my simple _presence_ was a deterrent, then you were doing something wrong. Or it simply wasn't meant to be."

"Oh, here we go," Josh replies with dripping sarcasm. " _'Meant to be_?' What a load of crap. This isn't one of your awful stories, where the couple is _fated_ to be together. This is just you tearing something apart because you're jealous."

Making a show of looking at his watch, Castle prepares to end this meeting. He's done more than enough to soothe his conscience – he showed up, let Josh take his shots in the hopes that such an act of reconciliation would make them both feel better. But now they're locked in a circular discussion that's doing nothing but depressing Castle and leaving Josh increasingly agitated.

"Got somewhere better to be?" Josh sneers as he sees Castle check the time. "Time to go jump into my spot while the bed's still warm?"

Releasing a large sigh, Castle decides to try one more time. "Look, Josh, you asked me here. What do you want?"

"I want you to leave her alone," he replies immediately. "I want you to leave _us_ alone."

Hitting his limit with this conversation, Castle immediately shakes his head. "No. That's not gonna happen," he says, resolute. "You're not together now and I'm not going to back off."

"Then may the best man win," Josh challenges, leaning forward.

" _Win_? You think this is some game?" Castle asks incredulously, unable to stop a chuckle. "Beckett can't be _won_ – she'll choose whoever she wants."

"And we'll be very happy together," Josh says in a tone redolent of bravado.

Unable to stop himself, Castle lets his previous chuckle blossom into a disbelieving laugh. The sound infuriates Josh, who's already reddening before Castle explains himself. "Looks like I'm not the only one with an inflated ego," he says after another laugh. "You can try. I won't speak for Beckett, and perhaps she will choose you. But if she dropped you when I wasn't in the picture, I don't like your odds when I let her know that I'm in lo…"

The impact of Josh's fist interrupts Castle's declaration, but it doesn't prevent it. "… in love with her," he says with a smile, lying on his back and looking up from the floor, happily ignoring the shocked gasps and commotion in the coffee shop, the throbbing of his eye, or the scowling grimace of someone who knows when he's lost.

* * *

"Oh, Castle," Beckett sighs as she continues to run her hand through his hair, scratching lightly on his scalp every once in a while. "You didn't even defend yourself?"

"Penance," he repeats again. "I know a bit about how much it hurts to want you," he admits sheepishly, trying to look away but unable to avoid her gaze with his head resting in her lap. "If I hadn't been such an idiot and we found each other before Josh came along, he wouldn't know that pain. So, it's only fair to help shoulder some of the load, right?"

Beckett looks suspiciously teary-eyed, though she blinks rapidly to dispel the look. "Are you sure?" she asks, trying to use a challenge to get herself back under control. "How do I know this wasn't some plan of yours to goad Josh into doing something unforgiveable out of some misplaced concern that he's still in the picture?"

Castle slaps himself in the forehead, instantly regretting the gesture. "That would've been a _great_ idea," he enthuses despite his flinch, latching onto this topic and pulling an eye roll out of his partner. "But if I'd tried that, it would've backfired just like brunch did. I can just imagine it – I lure him into a fight and let him mop the floor with me, after which you're so impressed by his prowess that the two of you leave arm-in-arm before even calling for an ambulance for the poor, broken writer? No thanks," he says flatly while Beckett offers an exasperated chuckle and playful slap to his chest. "I think my way worked out just fine."

"Even with your black eye?" she asks, surprised that he's wearing the bruise like a badge of honor rather than complaining about it.

"Makes me look tough," he laughs, knowing full well that the guys at the precinct will assume that he ran afoul of a nun or a Girl Scout troop. "Besides, I suspect I still hurt him worse even without throwing a punch."

"How so?" she asks, looking curious.

"A surgeon's delicate hand against my thick head?" he asks with a chuckle. "No contest. I heard something break and it wasn't me."

"Now you're just trying to get me to admit there might be some advantage to your big head," Beckett laments, nudging him in an effort to get him to rise. "I'm not gonna fall for that trick. Now, sit up, please."

Grumbling about losing his very comfortable spot, Castle still manages to drag himself into a sitting position. He's about to turn to Beckett when she rises from the bed and moves in front of him, kneeling on the floor so they're closer to same height.

Slowly, Beckett reaches for his hand, which she moves to a cheek after gracing it with a kiss. Then, she repeats the process with his other hand, so that he's soon cradling her face in his hands.

"I'm no star, Castle," she says quietly, looking into his eyes as she tries to let him know how important his words were to her. "And I won't burn you," she promises, covering his hands with hers to hold them in place and to emphasize the double-meaning of her declaration.

"You're certainly hot enough to burn me," Castle replies, unable to resist the comment or the accompanying wink.

" _There's_ my boy," Beckett laughs. "I wondered where you went, after all the noble meeting and beating. Good to have you flirting again, partner." With that, she grasps his hands and lowers them to his lap, still holding on and giving a squeeze to make sure she's got his attention. "But before we get too playful, I need to make sure you understand something. You _weren't_ a back-up plan. Josh was wrong, maybe on purpose. He was the rebound, the consolation when I thought I couldn't have you."

It's ridiculous, really, how much lighter he looks after hearing just that last sentence, Beckett thinks. Who's going to notice his black eye when faced with that blinding smile? It's magnetic, pulling first at her eyes before drawing her lips closer and closer…

Until they meet his cheek, rather than his lips.

"Castle…," Beckett groans.

"Sorry, Beckett," he apologizes with a blush. "It's just…," he trails off, looking down before mustering the courage to look up into her eyes. "It's just that I won't be able to stop," he confesses slowly, nodding down to remind them both that they're already sitting on his bed or kneeling next to it.

"And that would be bad because…"

"Because I'm a little damaged right now. My head should be spinning because of you, not before we even start," he explains with a shrug.

But Castle's not the only one who knows his partner. Pinning him with a look, she prompts: " _And_ …?"

" _And_ ," he harrumphs, "it still feels like we're starting as much as because of what happened with Josh as what's happening between us," he admits. "I know where we stand," he's quick to point out, worried that Beckett thinks he's still hung up on her ex, "and I'm already so damned happy I can barely sit still. But when we really jump in, I want it to be perfect. I want to be able to see you clearly," he says while gesturing to his eye, "and I want our first time to be…"

"Pure," Beckett suggests as Castle trails off, smiling beatifically at the look of relief on his face as her word fits the mood and signals her understanding. She leans forward, moving slowly to not scare him off, and drops a sweet kiss on his other cheek.

"Just so you know, Castle," she says quietly, regretting the position in which they're sitting because it prevents her from leaning her head on his shoulder, "you've seen me clearly for years. Just as I'm starting to see you," she adds, watching him break into another smile.

" _And_ just so you know," she continues, letting her voice grow a little whiny, "you're _killing_ me here. I've heard more beautiful words from your lips today than I have in my daydreams," she says with a perched brow, letting him in on a poorly held secret. "And that's a _lot_." She wants to say more, wants to address his confessions that emerged both in conversation with her father and Josh, but she wants to save those beautiful words for their date.

"Gotta keep you interested," he says with an embarrassed shrug. "Give you something to think about before you whisk me away on our inauguration."

"If I didn't know better," she replies with a perched brow, "I'd think you were teasing me a bit." When his laugh confirms her theory, her own plan starts to form. "Well, I'll need to be off – your warden was pretty clear about visiting hours and _some_ of us have to work in the morning," she says, laughing at his pout. "I'll go get a fresh ice pack before I go," she explains as she rises from her knees, "and maybe I'll grab one for you, too."

Leaving a chuckling Castle in his bedroom, Beckett pads quietly to the loft's kitchen, keeping a sharp eye out for Alexis or Martha. She grabs the fresh ice pack, then notices the bottle of acetaminophen on the counter. Collecting that as well as a glass of water, she quietly makes her way back toward her partner. Once she's in his office, she sets her bounty on his desk, closes the office door, and sets her plan into motion.

Castle's still in place at the end of his bed when she enters, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. He looks up when he hears his bedroom door close, shortly before his jaw hits the floor.

"Ah, Beckett?" he manages to squeak out on his third attempt.

Looking at him attentively while holding out two tablets in one hand and a glass of water in the other, she uses her raised brows to encourage him to talk.

Downing the tablets and the water without taking his eyes away from her, he's still sitting agog when she collects the glass from him and offers the ice pack.

"I think I must've hit my head harder than I thought," he groans. "But if so, I'm gonna do it a lot more often. Are you naked right now?"

His partner graces him with an indulgent smile before shaking her head, letting her hair cascade around her bare shoulders. "No, Castle, I'm not naked. Naked implies readiness, vulnerability. I'm nude."

"Oh," he stammers, trying desperately to keep his eyes locked on hers so that they don't drift, his look of concentration comical enough to pull a small giggle from his partner.

"Gotta keep you interested," she quotes his words back to him, voice dropping into a sultry register. "You know, give you something to think about before I whisk you away."

"You're killing me here," he somehow manages to groan, completing the act of borrowing words from each other.

"You're about words, Rick," she replies, speaking in a normal tone but blushing as Castle breaks and lets his eyes wander before wrenching them back upwards, "and I'm about actions. And _soon,_ " she vows, "those two will meet," she finishes in a low growl, letting her own eyes cascade over him to note his physical reactions to her promise. "Now, do me a favor?"

"Anything," Castle burbles in reply, so completely discombobulated that he'd probably agree to anything right now, which was part of her plan.

" _Rest_ ," she implores, before leaning down, slowly, to bestow a kiss upon his forehead, "and heal. I'm gonna need you in peak condition," she husks, delighting in watching a light sweat form on her partner's brow.

Then, with lusty look, she spins in place and sways to the door to his bedroom, feeling the scorch of his gaze on her back. Opening the door quietly, she's ready to slip out before she turns her head for one last farewell. "Goodnight, Rick," she says breathily. "Think of me?"

She sways through the door and closes it quietly behind her, able even through the divide to hear the sound of her partner flopping back onto the bed. That probably didn't do his headache any good, she thinks, but she's fairly confident her message was received.

Dressing quickly lest Martha or Alexis make a surprise appearance, she congratulates herself on where they are. She'd worried that the gains made in yesterday's talk and this morning's brunch might be lost to Josh's interference, but Castle seems to have navigated that situation remarkably well. There's nothing left in front of them except for her need to come up with a plan for their first mutually-acknowledged romantic outing. And maybe one bit of housekeeping, she thinks.

After stopping upstairs to wish Alexis a good evening, she's still donning her boots as she pulls out her cellphone. Dialing as she leaves the loft, she's fully prepped when the call connects. "Hi, Roz? It's Beckett. I need a favor."

* * *

A/N: Apologies for the delay! Some recent changes (different school start times, new work responsibilities) have really cut into my writing time. But, I also took a break to meet the kingdaddy as he passed through towm - super cool dude. Drinks are on me next time. And I just finished reviewing a story that'll be a treat once it's posted on the site.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

"Doctor Davidson," Trudy says with a smile at the formality, "there's a woman from the NYPD waiting in your office."

"Thank you, Nurse Jackson," Josh teases in reply, just as willing to pay only lip service to the stilted formality of the hospital environment as the nurse who often assists him, and will be doing more for the near future.

With an invigorated spring in his step, Josh heads towards his office, taking a quick detour to the staff lounge for two cups of coffee. It's not exactly gourmet, but it'll help set the right tone, he thinks. What he hadn't thought about, though, was how he'd get the coffee back to his office. Well, they'll just share, he decides while pouring both cups into a larger mug. As he resumes his walk to his office, he's a little troubled by the realization that he's never seen Kate share her coffee with _anyone_. But if she's here, then they're making changes, right?

"I _knew_ you'd come…," Josh says triumphantly as he pushes open the door to his office with a flourish, trailing off when he sees the profile of a stranger.

"You knew I'd come to see you?" Karpowski asks, standing and turning to face the doctor. "Roselyn Karpowski, NYPD," she says as she approaches the confused Josh. "I'd offer to shake your hand," she says with an inquisitive look and raised brow, "but it looks like it's not up for the strain."

Lifting his right hand to stare again at the splints and wrappings that are helping the pins stay in place, Josh releases a deep, frustrated sigh. "It's been better," he admits casually as he maneuvers around Karpowski and behind his desk, setting down the mug of coffee as he slowly lowers himself into his chair while using his good hand to wave the detective back to the chair she just vacated. "How can I help the NYPD? Are you here about that GSW from two days ago?"

"I'm working on a case and had some medical questions. I understand you're a cardiologist," Karpowski offers, nodding to the medical degrees and certifications hanging on the wall next to his desk, "but I've heard you're a good resource even if we move outside your area of specialization."

"Happy to help," Josh offers, leaning back in his seat and proud enough he's been recommended, obviously by Kate, that he doesn't mind the interruption to his scheduled rounds at the hospital. "If not cardiology, what's the issue?"

"Trauma," Karpowski offers. "I've got a vic – sorry, that's short for 'victim,'" she offers with an apologetic smile, which Josh returns with a small interruption.

"Don't worry. I have a friend who's a detective. I've heard the phrase."

"Right," Karpowski continues. "We had some issues nailing down the time of death on my vic. Well," she hedges, "it was as much the causality as it was the TOD. He passed out in the middle of a restaurant," she says with an unexpected slap on Josh's desk that startles him. "Boom! Face down into his open-faced turkey sandwich," she says with grim finality, making Josh wondering if she's making a joke or not. He decides to say nothing, just in case.

"Shop owners call 911 and – miracle of miracles – there's a team of EMTs about a hundred yards down the block, grabbing lunch from a deli. So, they're there within five minutes, tops," Karpowski continues, painting the scene and sharing a look of camaraderie with the doctor, who can share in the cop's friendly rivalry with the EMTs. "But it didn't matter. Vic was dead."

"Aspiration?" Josh asks, wondering if the poor soul suffocated in his lunch. What a horrible way to go, surrounded by strangers while mortally doomed by mashed potatoes and gravy.

"We weren't sure at first," Karpowski admits. "But they cleaned him up, got him to the morgue, and let the ghouls do their thing. They had COD immediately, but now I'm stuck trying to link it back to the guy who looks good for it."

"So?" Josh asks, intrigued. "What was it?"

"Massive acute subdural hematoma," Karpowski replies, having pulled out a small notebook and flipped to a random page to build the illusion of reading off a formal diagnosis. "Which, I'm told, means he suffered trauma sometime before lunch, which caused a bleed inside his skull that pressured his brain, causing unconsciousness and then death. But the timing's tricky – we're trying to backtrack what happened to him."

"Well," Josh answers, growing uneasy, "something like that would've resulted from an impact to the head. In the US, we're talking mostly about car accidents, falls, or… _oh_ ," he interrupts himself, slowly realizing the true nature of this interview while looking directly at the attentive detective. "Do I need an attorney?"

"That's up to you," Karpowski offers nonchalantly. "Right now we're just having a chat. You lawyer-up and I'll take you in to the station, Mirandize you, and this all goes official. Not sure that'd look good to your employer or volunteer groups, which is why we're here. But," Karpowski reinforces almost casually, "it's your call."

"You're a friend of his, aren't you?" Josh asks after considering his options for a few, long moments.

"I think you skipped a step," Karpowski replies, stepping out of role to let some of her offense show through. "I started this conversation by talking about how an assault charge can graduate to manslaughter or homicide, and the first thing you ask is whether someone is my friend?"

"I doubt this would just be a ' _chat_ ' if he was seriously injured," Josh replies, looking annoyed at having been chastised. "He's fine, right?"

"As far as I know, he didn't pass out into his lunch," Karpowski agrees with a nod. "But it's good to see such a professional bedside manner up close," she pokes again, watching the surgeon flush.

"So, you're here to scold me," he allows. "Do all friends of the NYPD enjoy this kind of protection?"

"I appreciate that you're a fancy-pants doctor with an admirable public service record," Karpowski returns, leaning in, "but you need to grow the hell up and stop sulking. It's _your_ NYPD friend keeping you out of jail right now, so show some damned appreciation."

"What?" Josh replies, not sure what she means. "Kate sent you? Why isn't she here?"

"She isn't here," Karpowski answers with a smirk, "because she doesn't want to be here. And, speaking as someone who's watched her for years, you don't want her here, not after how you behaved."

"Look," Josh replies, deference to law enforcement giving way to annoyance at being flanked, "I don't know what you think happened, but…"

"I don't _think_ , I _know_ ," Karpowski interrupts curtly. "I've got four signed affidavits from staff and guests at the café," she fires at him, watching his confident look falter. "I've got _that_ ," she continues, pointing at his bandaged and splinted hand, which he subconsciously pulls in close. "And I've got _this_ ," she finishes, holding up her phone and pressing the triangular 'play' button on the screen.

Karpowski watches Josh's face as he watches the café's surveillance video play. There's no sound, thankfully, but the black and white video requires no narration. There they are, sitting at the table. Castle looks calm, but Josh sees the signs of his own growing agitation. The conversation shifts back and forth, until Josh watches himself stand quickly and swing at Castle, who does nothing to block the punch or retaliate. The video even shows Josh standing over Castle, shouting something else before pouring the remainder of his coffee on the prone man and storming off-camera. Before the video ends, several people rush over to help Castle, probably before they turned around and offered to provide affidavits.

"You screwed up," Karpowski says simply. "You lost your temper and you should lose more, maybe your job and maybe your freedom," she continues while Josh's shoulders sag as the potential consequences of his swing start to sink in. "But that looks unlikely for two reasons," she leads before trailing off.

It takes Josh a few moments to realize that she's not going to continue speaking until he looks up at her, so he takes a deep breath and lifts his eyes back to her. "Two reasons?"

"Yes," Karpowski replies evenly. "Beckett," she says while raising a finger, "and Castle," she finishes by lifting a second finger. At his look of confusion, she explains. "You'll have to talk to Beckett yourself," Karpowski explains, "after you and I have had our talk. Understand, though," she continues, voice growing hard, "that conversation will take place in public and only once." At this point, Karpowski waits until it's clear that her words have sunk in. "As for Castle, he's being ridiculous," she explains with a surprise huff.

"No kidding," Josh mumbles in reply.

"Castle's statement is complete and utter fantasy," Karpowski offers with a grudging smile. "It changes with every telling, but the only constant is that you weren't involved. At this point," she confesses, prolonging this discussion a bit to drive her point home, "I keep pushing him just to hear what outlandish excuse he'll invent next. Needless to say," she segues to her conclusion, "he's made it clear that he will not testify or otherwise assist in an assault case against you."

Josh ponders this unusual development for a while, trying to reconcile these actions with the view he has of Castle. He thinks he's worked it out when Karpowski starts shaking her head. Beckett's not the only detective at the 12th, and as far as Karpowski's concerned, the two are evenly matched in skill and results. Had only her team been up in the rotation, she's hopeful that the Tisdale case would've still led to the creation of Nikki Heat, just with a different muse.

"If you're thinking that Castle's embarrassed by what happened and anxious to move on," she says with a voice full of pity for anyone reaching such a conclusion, "you need to think again. I'm not sure there's anything that embarrasses him," she says with a laugh while thinking about some of his exploits, "and he's not been shy about the black eye he's sporting around the precinct." This time, she withholds her smile, but she's gotten a kick out of the more absurd explanations he's touted. Since only she and Beckett know what really happened, Castle's delighting in keeping people guessing.

"Then why's he protecting me?" Josh asks, confused but starting to wonder if Castle's taking this line in order to gain leverage over him, to have an ace in hand in case Josh continues to pursue Kate.

"He won't say," Karpowski answers, looking thoughtful. "But he's been around the precinct for a while now and I've got a fair guess. Castle might be the most empathic person I've ever met," she offers, while Josh frowns at hearing yet another woman praise the author. "He goes to great lengths for people, whether it's helping with morale by bringing lunch or letting himself be the butt of the joke," she says with a perched brow. "My guess is that he knew you were upset after what happened between you and Kate and figured you'd feel better if you popped him one."

"You make him sound all noble," Josh retorts, still uncomfortable with this whole discussion. "He's the reason Kate and I broke up. If he took that punch, it was to compromise me, to goad me into doing something Kate would find unforgiveable," he accuses, growing incensed again. "They're together now, aren't they? This is all a nice little fix-up, them off together and me sitting here with an assault charge that they can drop on me whenever they want."

"I said Castle's the one with empathy," Karpowski replies, growing annoyed, " _not_ me. He'd probably try to get you to talk about this. But for me, I'll just say grow the hell up. You and Beckett didn't work. Get over it. Whether Castle's involved or not doesn't change the facts. If you disagree, please try to push Beckett, then we'll see how well your medical training serves you," she says with some unseemly anticipation. "For the record, though, they're not together. But they will be."

"So this is all just prelude," Josh complains, though less confidently than his previous accusation. "Justification."

"They've been heading toward each other since he came to the precinct," Karpowski answers with another smirk, "not that either of them would admit it. Not sure I've ever seen two people bungle things so badly, but I think they're almost there," she speculates with a smile that fades when she turns back to him. "But you're a damned fool if you think either of them would start something while they were with someone else, and you'd be a bigger damned fool if you think you could get in the way of them."

"So, is this you saying don't try anything or I'll find myself in court for a trumped up assault charge?"

"You keep that up and I'll smack you myself," Karpowski growls in response, "and _I_ know how to hit someone without hurting myself," she adds for good measure. "First, _you_ screwed up," she drives the point home with an accusatory finger pointed directly at him. "You took the swing – not Castle, not Beckett, _you_. That's assault. Own it." Eyeing him fiercely in the hopes of seeing the slightest sign of disagreement, she continues when he sits frozen in place. "Second, the DA doesn't need Castle's participation or testimony to pursue a case against you. The people at the café called it in before Beckett called me. Beckett and Castle are working to make this go away, using what precious little pull they have with the DA to keep your reputation intact. It's a waste if you ask me," Karpowski opines, looking at Josh and finding him unworthy of the effort, "but it's your call if you want to play the bitter, jilted lover."

Josh says nothing in response, sitting quietly in his chair as thinking about what he's heard, what he should do. Karpowski watches him closely, wondering if he has more accusations brewing. When he remains quiet, she rises from her chair.

"Seems to me you've got some thinking to do. I suggest you do it before Beckett calls," she suggests without malice. "She wants to talk, but thought it was best to separate the legal stuff," she says, tapping on her phone to remind him about the video. "So, get your act together. I won't be so sweet if I have to visit you again."


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

Any doubts about the direction of this discussion are dispelled as Josh approaches the table at which Beckett sits. The clothes, the hair, the makeup, it all looks the same as usual. But there's something about her posture, the air around her – this must be how she is at the police station. She hardly looks approachable, and just in case he had any last doubts, the fact that she sits with a single cup of coffee drives the circumstances of their meeting home.

"Kate," he says, hardly recognizing the tone of voice that emerges. She rises to her feet and offers not a smile but a hand to shake. The less-than-subtle clues keep piling up, he thinks.

As he looks at her hand, Josh realizes that her overture is even more pointed than he realized. Her right hand is extended, with her left holding her coffee. It's a way to guarantee he'd use his right hand to greet her, except it's currently fractured. Which she knew. So, with a sigh, he clasps her right hand with his left, knowing better than to lean in to kiss her cheek.

"I'm just gonna go get a drink," he says with a vague nod toward the counter, using the opportunity to buy some time to think and to let her know that he's aware of the dynamics at play. It's only when he's in line that he realizes she hasn't yet said a word.

He slips into the seat across the table from Beckett a few minutes later, setting the coffee he'll probably neglect on the table in front of him. "Thanks for calling," he offers, not sure how to get this discussion started.

"I thought we should talk," she replies evenly.

"Is there anything new to say?" he asks, studying the blank expression on her face. "I'd hoped maybe we could give things another try, but you don't have to be a detective to read the signs," he says with a wave that takes in her coffee, her posture, and her position behind the table.

"I'm not interested in giving things another try," Beckett answers, still working to keep herself calm. "I thought that was clear from our last talk."

"You mean our talk where you dumped me out of the blue, after asking me to stay here for you?" he asks in reply, a little bitterness creeping into his tone.

"Look, Josh, I'm not going to go through all this again," she replies flatly. "And, frankly, I don't understand why you want to. What's going on with you? When I left your place on Saturday, you were happy enough to see me go."

"It was just a fight," Josh replies, shrugging away her comment. "People have them all the time. It doesn't mean we're done."

"Of course we're done," she replies flatly. "As was _completely_ clear from the conversation – that was the _whole point_ of the conversation. Besides, you don't say the things you did, make the kinds of accusations you made, then expect everything to get patched up," she replies, anger starting to bleed into her words. With a deep breath to calm herself down, she reaches for a much more relaxed tone of voice. "Why the revisionism now?"

"We were good together," he whispers, voice lilting to suggest playfulness but trailing off in the glare of her stony look. "I thought we were building something together," he tries instead.

"You see this?" Beckett says, gesturing to a section of empty tabletop.

"Yeah?" he asks in confusion.

"I went through my apartment and car to make sure I returned anything of yours," Beckett explains. "This is it," she says, gesturing again to the empty spot. "What does that say about us?" Seeing him about to charge in again, she quickly adds one more comment. "And I'm sure there are as many of my things at your place."

His response forestalled, Josh takes another tack. "I miss you," he offers with a shy shrug, shifting approach again.

"I doubt that," Beckett replies not unkindly. "You miss the _idea_ of me. At heart, that's all we really had – ideas and expectations, impressions and references. We didn't spend enough time together to have more."

"But I stayed to give us that chance," he replies, sounding both disappointed and upset. "You asked me to stay and I stayed."

"No, Josh, you didn't," Beckett answers softly. "You didn't leave for Haiti, but that doesn't mean you stayed."

"Of course I stayed," he reacts immediately, offended. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"You might not've gone to Haiti, but you spent just as much time at the hospital here. We were never going to build anything more than we had without spending time together."

"That's a bit of a double-standard, don't you think?" Josh asks, surprising Beckett. "You can talk about me always being at the hospital, but you were gone just as much as I was."

Shutting her mouth with an audible clack, Beckett reminds herself that arguing is only going to send this conversation spiraling downward. So, she pulls herself back and addresses Josh's motivation rather than his accusation. "You weren't happy. I wasn't happy. I don't understand why you're so anxious to move backwards when it's clear that it wasn't working for us."

"I wasn't unhappy," Josh replies, and Beckett sighs. If 'not unhappy' is the best that can be said of a relationship, there's little hope. "It's just that you decided we were done and then..."

"Wait a minute," Beckett says, lifting a hand preempt the flow of words. "Is _that_ what this is about? You're upset that I'm the one who ended things?"

"What? No," Josh replies quickly and confidently.

Too quickly. Beckett's been in far too many interrogations to miss these tells. All this – the tortured conversations, Castle's black eye – just because of his pride?

"That _is_ what this's about," Beckett contradicts incredulously, shaking her head. "Sniffing out lies is part of my job, Josh, and I recognize one when I hear it."

"And working on hearts is part of _my_ job," he retorts, uncomfortable at having been called out. "What does it say that I can't find one in you?"

"If we've devolved to name-calling, it's time to wrap this up," she answers peremptorily. Collecting her empty coffee cup, Beckett's preparing to stand when Josh catches her wrist with his (currently) uninjured hand.

"It's not name-calling, it's fact," he accuses, holding tight. "Castle told me all about it, you know," he continues, warming to this line as he sees Beckett's look of confusion. "He said you bounce back and forth from him to others without a care for who gets hurt. If that's not heartless, what is?"

"Remove your hand or it'll be in a splint, too," Beckett growls in such a shocking voice of low menace that Josh lets go instinctively, seeming surprised by his own actions. "And don't think you can lie to me about what Castle said."

"Oh, is this the mighty detective's lie detector again?" he asks sarcastically.

"I know _exactly_ what Castle said to you," she replies fiercely, surveying this man who at one point seemed like someone in whom she could confide. "And I know exactly what you said to him."

"What, was he wearing a wire?" Josh jibes, laughing at the thought.

"I suggested it," Beckett says with a smile, enjoying how her words freeze her ex in place, "but he refused. So, instead, we just talked about your meeting. While I held an ice-pack to his head," she says with a smirk, recalling their discussion about whether the pack should go on the front or the back.

"I bet he just ran back and told you all about it," Josh scoffs, annoyed again at what he considers to be Castle's plan to bait him into taking a swing. "Couldn't wait to have one more lever to pry us apart."

"No, he didn't, actually," Beckett replies, her voice straddling the difference between fondness at the recollection of catching her partner unawares in his office and anger at Josh for losing his temper and resorting to physical violence. "I had to ask him what happened. And, for the record," she says while staring him down, "there was no 'us' to pry apart."

Ignoring her repeated reference to the end of their relationship, Josh forges ahead. "So, you're willing to believe what he said," he asks, "without even hearing my side of things?"

"I trust Castle," she replies simply and with conviction, leaving the inverse unstated.

"He wants you, you know," Josh pivots. "He'd say anything to win you."

Oddly, his words make Beckett break out in a wide smile. It starts as a look of fond reminiscence, before shifting into something more pointed. When he recognizes what's nearly a feral grin, he gulps and thinks again that he's seeing Detective Beckett, not Kate Beckett.

" _Win_? You think this is some game?" Beckett asks leadingly, happy to quote the lines that Castle relayed to her after his meeting with Josh, the words that had touched her more than she could bring herself to admit. "I can't be _won_ – I'll choose who I want."

"And that's Castle," Josh laments in a low, defeated voice.

"Yes," she finally admits aloud, committing herself and feeling both free and a bit guilty. "That's Castle. Finally." When Josh doesn't reply, she thinks about another point that had come up in the pre-punch conversation, deciding that she needs to admit the same thing Castle did. "I owe you an apology," she admits, surprising Josh. "I was in a bad place when we started, reeling from a misunderstanding with Castle. It was a terrible foundation for us that could only end in heartache. It wasn't my intent, but I'm still sorry it happened."

"He's gonna hurt you," Josh predicts.

"No more than I've hurt him," she answers easily, thinking about the conversations she's already had with Castle and looking forward to more, looking forward to being on the same page so they can stop hurting each other accidentally and move forward together at last.

"He's probably already seeing someone," Josh charges. "Probably more than one, knowing him."

"He had a date Saturday night," she replies, watching him knit his brows at her casual statement. "But we were done in time for me to see him before then."

"He's going to leave you," Josh persists, unhappy that his words don't seem to be affecting her and offended that the timing of their breakup seems coordinated with Castle's social calendar. "You know how he is with women."

"I know _exactly_ how he is with women," Beckett answers, thinking about Alexis and Martha, about how hard Castle works to care for them, how they – even if it's hidden behind a veneer of teasing comments – enjoy a foundational security in the certainty of his love for them. "I can only hope he'll treat me the same way."

Looking at her askance, it's clear that he has no idea what she's talking about. Her private knowledge makes her smile, confirms that she and Josh were never meant to be. It brings her peace of mind, though clearly the same isn't true for him.

"So, that's it," he summarizes. "You're going to run off with the playboy and get your heart broken. Don't come crying to me when it all falls apart."

"I promise," Beckett vows happily, "you won't see me again. _Unless_ ," she adds, voicing growing hard with another tone of menace, "you think about doing anything to Castle. Karpowski already talked to you about the consequences of your adolescent idiocy," she growls, watching Josh pale. "But I'll also promise you this: next time you'll deal with me, not him, and I can hurt you in ways even your medical training didn't cover."

"You…," Josh trails off, gulping down his comment that she wouldn't do that to him. Because the way that she's looking at him now suggests that it would take very little provocation for her to prove her resolve.

"The only reason you didn't spend a night in Holding," Beckett replies, still sounding like she'd like to see this happen, "is because Castle wouldn't cooperate. He gets to use that play _once,_ " she says, emphasizing the point with a raised finger. "But _anything_ happens again, and it comes crashing down. Understand?"

This time, Josh can only nod.

"Goodbye, Josh," Beckett says as she stands, taking the higher road by taking her coffee to the trashcan rather than disposing of it as Josh had done after his altercation with Castle. That's the one little bit of their meeting that Castle hadn't shared, probably because he recognized how upset she was by everything else she'd heard without that addition. But as she drops her cup into the receptacle and pushes through the door without looking back, she adds it to the tally of things that Castle's done in deference to her.

As she steps out of the coffee shop and into the evening sun she pauses, looking up to feel the warmth on her face. She's finally done. Done with hiding, done with denying, and done with Josh. She breaks into a breathtaking smile, there on the sidewalk with her head tilted back, as she realizes that she and Castle are free. Free to see each other, free to flirt with intent, and free to pursue where that flirtation might lead.

Dropping her head but keeping her smile, Beckett starts striding home, mind already spinning with options and opportunities for her date with Castle. The giggle that escapes surprises her, makes her smile even more blinding. They are going to have _so much fun_.

* * *

A/N: So, I've got a little dilemma. I have an idea for the Halloween Fanfic event, but I'm pressed for time. So, I'm trying to decide between getting started on that or finishing this story with Beckett's surprise for Castle. I'll give it a think and see what happens, but I'm leaning toward finishing this before moving on.

Also, time for a little advertising! The magnificent Griever11 is arranging another Castle Fic Stream, this time covering two weekends! There are some really great authors participating, including authors of some of my favorite stories. GeekMom, Aalon, and I have a session during the first weekend, so please drop in if you can or send some questions in advance (if there are no questions, maybe Aalon and I will just come up with increasingly bizarre suggestions for the GeekMom's next chapter of Courtship). PM me if you want details.

Finally, please take care down south and watch out for Hurricane Matthew. Stay safe.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

"Urgh?" says the master of the written word.

"Still asleep? _Lazy_ ," chides Beckett from the other end of the call. "If you can manage to get yourself moving, we've got a drop. I just sent you a text with the address. You coming?"

"Mrph," Castle answers, his language skills still queued up behind the effort to crack an eyelid.

"I was hoping you'd say that," Beckett laughs, pretending to understand his monosyllabic nonsense. "Coffee sounds wonderful. See you there."

"Arnk," he answers, hearing her chuckle as the line clicks off.

As tempting as it is to drift back to sleep with her voice echoing in his ears and enlivening his imagination, it's a distant second to actually seeing her in person, even with the colossal inconvenience of having to leave his bed. So, with just a few more groans that might be imprecations, Castle lurches into action, getting himself cleaned up quickly. He prods around his eye as he finishes shaving, happy that the discoloration is virtually gone. He'll have to come up with new fodder for stories at the precinct. Though, he thinks ruefully as he looks at his watch, Beckett might give him another battle wound if he doesn't get his tail moving.

Thirty minutes later, he's stuffing bills into the hands of a cabbie who's now very glad he consented to idle his car while his fare dashed into a coffee shop. Pulling away with a jaunty and proscribed toot of the horn, he leaves the tall man juggling two large cups on the curb.

"'Bout time you got here," Beckett calls out from the doorway of an apartment building, where she's leaning against the frame with her arms crossed. "They've already cleared the scene," she says with a gesture to the door. "You missed all the fun."

Shaking his head, Castle approaches with a smile on his face, delivering her coffee with a small bow. "You clearly need this caffeine to clear your confusion." When she receives the coffee with an extended hand and upturned brow, he explains. "It's pretty obvious that 'all the fun' is still right in front of me."

With a blushing laugh, Beckett ducks to take a quick sip. "How do you do that? You went from grunting like a caveman to flirting within an hour."

"You're my muse, remember?" he answers with a devilish grin, taking a moment to sip his own drink while letting his eyes linger on his partner. "You inspire many thoughts and feelings, only a small portion of which can be put in a book."

Swinging alongside him, Beckett knocks shoulders to distract from her deepening blush. "Do you really expect me to believe that just because they're not in a book they're not written down?"

"I would _never_ ," Castle answers virtuously, using his free hand to clutch at his chest to ward off the false accusation that would otherwise smother him. "And on a totally unrelated subject, you wouldn't believe the security protocols I've got on my laptop."

Cutting him a distrusting look, she starts them walking toward her cruiser. "You'd better," she answers, parting from his side to walk around the front of the car. "After all, I'd want to know that any… _personal photos_ were well protected," she suggests with a wink before slipping into the car.

It takes a short tap on the horn to snap Castle out of his shock.

Sliding into the passenger seat wearing a lovely blush of his own, Castle looks over at his partner. He's about to follow up on the photo comment – how could he not? – when she interrupts him.

"Vic's name is Shawn Bean…," she starts, raising a hand too late to stop Castle's explosion of laughter.

" _That_ guy?" he Castle laughs in delight. "He dies _all the time_! It's what he's known for. How'd he die?" Castle asks excitedly, talking over Beckett's attempts to quiet him. "Beheading? Grappling gun to the neck?"

"Castle…"

"Pierced by about a hundred arrows? Run aground on a rocky shoal while impaled on an anchor?"

"Castle…"

"Forced off a cliff by stampeding cows? Dropped onto a radar dish?"

" _Castle_!" Beckett finally shouts, ending his fun. "Different spelling – our vic is S-h-a-w-n. He wasn't an actor. He was a grad student."

"Oh," Castle answers, deflating. Then, noticing Beckett's withdrawn posture, he gets a gleam in his eye. "A grad student studying…," he trails off, leaving a blank for Beckett to fill.

"Cinematography," she admits in a low tone.

"Yes!" Castle cries happily, pumping his fist. "Seriously, Beckett. Sean – I mean _Shawn_ – Bean, studying film, and getting killed? I can't even tell you how many theories I've got already, and you haven't even told me how he died!"

"Nice to see that years on the job have taught you somber respect for the departed," she grouses as she pulls into traffic, grumbling to herself.

"That right there is a _classic_ Beckett diversion," Castle says knowingly, and annoyingly, from the passenger seat. "So, how'd he die?" he asks, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

"I don't think you're conducting yourself with the proper decorum to get an answer to that question," Beckett replies tartly, keeping her eyes on the road.

"Okay, multiple choice then," he replies without a pause. "Let's see if I can do these in chronologic order…"

"A fork!" Beckett interjects, unwilling to let Castle get started again. "It was a fork, okay?"

"A _fork_?" Castle asks incredulously. "He was stabbed with a _fork_?" Watching Beckett's exasperated nod, he thinks about what he missed. "I can't believe I didn't see the crime scene. Must've gotten him in the carotid artery?"

Biting her lip, Beckett shakes her head again, wondering at her partner's innate ability to hone in on the odd details. "Well," she says, bracing for another explosion, "it was an artery, but not the carotid."

Castle furrows his brow before looking wide-eyed at his partner. "No. Not the…"

"Femoral," Beckett anticipates, nodding.

"But that would mean he was probably…,"

"Naked," Beckett admits, nodding again.

"So he was naked – not nude – and got stabbed in the groin with a fork?" Castle repeats, looking a little queasy. "Pretty sure I didn't see that in a movie. I take it back," he decides. "I'm glad I missed that crime scene. What'd Lanie say?"

"It wasn't Lanie," Beckett answers, keeping her eyes on the road even though she'd like to see his reaction. "It was Perlmutter."

"Now I'm _really_ glad I missed that scene," Castle vows, lapsing into silence for several long minutes.

After another five minutes, he seems to have exhausted that topic of thought and manages to engage again. "Sorry, it's just – a fork! Anyway, where are we going?"

"Espo's checking with the school and Ryan's pulling phone and financials," Beckett replies crisply. "Shawn had a day job – we're heading there to talk to his boss, see if there's anything worth running down."

"I think I'll refrain from speculating on his job," Castle demurs, pulling a smile from his partner.

"Too many options?" she teases, shocking him by engaging where he'd pulled back. "After all, if he's like his namesake, he could've been a spy, a northern king, a corrupted warrior…"

"You've already got me hook, line, and sinker, Beckett," he smiles in response, delighting in her unexpected playfulness. "You don't have to boost your hotness even higher by showing off your movie knowledge," he says while she laughs. "Though it _is_ pretty hot to hear you talking about spies and northern kings."

"Glad to oblige, partner," she answers with a wink. "But it's time to get serious. We're here. And look – a familiar setting."

Craning his neck to take in the building, Castle nods and huffs a laugh. "It's been awhile. Although Jonathan Tisdale's long gone, the poor guy. Wonder if his company is still here."

"We can check on the directory," Beckett says as she parks and exits the car. "We're looking for a company called Endeavor Ventures."

"Sounds fake," Castle speculates as they walk toward the building they've been in once before, back on their first case together.

"Why do you say that?" Beckett asks, brow furrowed.

"They're synonyms," Castle answers with a shrug. "It'd be like taking the subway train to visit the Risky Gamble casino in Townville. It's contrived. So, it's probably either a front for something or fake."

"Must be nice to just make all this stuff up," Beckett grouses, reminding him of her demeanor during their last case here. "If you don't mind, though, I think I'll still investigate," she offers with false consideration, striding toward the security desk.

After flashing her badge at the disinterested security guard, Beckett enquires about the office location for Endeavor Ventures.

"Never heard of 'em," the bored guard replies, leaning back in his chair and frowning as if providing that answer caused him to exceed his budgeted energy for his job today.

"Would you check, please?" Beckett asks while pointing at the computer on the desk, though it's clear this is a command, not a request.

Heaving a put-upon sigh, the guard makes a show out of scooting himself to the terminal, using two fingers to hunt and peck through about 20 different screens. Each slow clack of a key seems to elevate Beckett's blood pressure until Castle recognizes the signs of an incipient eruption. Thankfully, just as he's about to intervene, the security guard turns and confirms that a firm by that name or anything similar is not a current tenant and never has been.

"Thanks for your effort," she offers sharply before turning on her heel and heading toward the door. Castle lingers slightly, offering a conciliatory smile and chatting with the guard before spinning to catch up to Beckett.

She's leaning against the cruiser with her arms crossed and foot tapping when he emerges from the building, tapping on his cell phone.

"Beckett…," he starts as he approaches the cruiser, but gets cut off.

"Don't," she warns, hand outstretched. "I don't want to hear about your great prognostication skills."

Pursing his mouth, Castle's unsure about how to proceed. Blowing out a breath, he decides to take a chance. "I know the clock is ticking," he admits in a low voice, stepping close to focus on her, "but – walk with me?" he asks, surprising his partner. "Just for a few minutes?"

Beckett surveys him for a moment, then pushes off the car and steps beside him, setting them on a walk.

"You okay?" he asks gently as they walk, having decided without speaking that they'd do a lap around the building.

"Yeah," she sighs. "Just a little tense, I guess."

"I've got a solution for that," he replies while trying to tamp down his smile. "But seeing as I just got rid of my black eye, I think I'll avoid earning a new one by suggesting it."

"Who knows, Castle?" she asks while cutting him a sly look. "What makes you so sure that would be the physical reaction I'd choose?"

Following her comment about photos, this unexpected reaction has him chuckling and even blushing a bit. Beckett's apparently interested in playing today.

"This is the part where I get all excited and then you break my heart by telling me that you're better with your kick than you are with your punch, right?" he asks warily.

"Well, I was going to comment on the things I can do with my legs," she replies, running a hand down her flank while looking unabashedly at Castle's waist, "but if you'd rather talk about getting kicked…"

"No," he says hastily, after a large swallow. "I like your idea better. Go ahead," he encourages.

"Six words, _Rick_ ," she says, husking on his name to make sure she's got his attention. "Yoga," she purrs. " _Lots_ and _lots_ of yoga."

She knows her message's been received when his eyes glaze over and he needs to shake his head to continue walking in a straight line. His befuddlement makes her laugh and helps improve her mood.

"Thank you," she starts to say before Castle unexpectedly interrupts her.

"For that image?" he asks in delight. "No, _thank_ _you_."

"Not what I was talking about," she chuckles in reply, "but still a fun thought," she winks. "I was thanking you for cheering me up, for not bragging about sniffing out Shawn's fake job."

Surprisingly, Castle seems to grow a little serious. "It helps that we're here," he says, gesturing to the building. "Helps me appreciate how far we've come. Back then… well, back then, I was an ass. I _certainly_ would've strutted around."

"And now?"

"Now," he ponders, thinking out loud. "Now, I've learned. Well, a little bit," he hedges, prompting a laugh from his partner. "Now it's more about doing things right, with you, than it is about trying to impress the hot detective."

"I don't know, Castle," she replies, bumping hips with him, "you're still pretty impressive. Especially when you say things like that."

He looks so surprised, so delighted by her reply, that his whole countenance seems to brighten. It reminds Beckett again that a few kind words can go a very long way, especially with her partner. With a quick look around to make sure the coast is clear, she closes the distance between them and leans up to drop a quick kiss on his cheek, pulling away even before he can react.

"Come on," she says quickly, before her shocked partner can say anything. "We've still got a case to solve. And," she trails off uncomfortably, "I should probably apologize to the security guard."

"Don't worry," her partner replies, pointing them toward her cruiser. "I chatted with him a bit. He said thanks for his lunch, which should arrive in about half an hour."

Of course he cleaned up her mess, she thinks while shaking her head. That must've been what he was doing on his phone when he exited the building. Cleaning up her mess and cheering her up. And sniffing out case issues even faster than she expected. And all that was a prelude to some sweet words reflecting on the growth of their partnership.

"You're a good man, Rick Castle," she says quietly, bumping him again before breaking away to approach the driver's side of the car. "And a good partner."

Even though he thinks this is a case, she laughs to herself as she watches him smile, Castle is absolutely _acing_ this date.

* * *

A/N: I'd hoped to get farther than this, but it's a fair stopping point and lets me post something in case the hurricane (even though it's a state away!) knocks out my power. The next chapter, whenever I can post it, will pick up where this one leaves off.

As far as the A/N from last chapter, I'm going to finish this story before pursuing something new. Not sure there'll be time left for the Halloween story, but I hope so.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

Pulling out her phone from her seat behind the wheel of her cruiser, Beckett checks her texts.

"Huh," she mumbles, catching Castle's attention.

"What's up?" Castle asks from beside her, curious about the next step in the investigation.

"It's the fork," she answers, smirking as Castle rubs his own upper thigh in sympathy with their vic and squirms in his seat.

"You okay there, partner?" she asks, eyebrow perched.

"Sure," he replies, settling down. "I'm just thinking we need to swing by the loft on the way to our next stop. I'd feel more comfortable with a little armor," he says, tapping on his upper thigh.

"Not brave enough to go commando for this case?" she teases. "I thought you liked working without a net?"

"Not with stakes like these," he grumbles, shifting again in his seat. "Money? Pride? No problem. But I think I'll limit my gambling to exclude acts of grievous harm to my body or hopes for future progeny."

"And you already have armored boxers?" she laughs in reply. "Why am I not surprised? Do they have 'WRITER' written across the back in block lettering?"

"You don't mess with x-rays, Beckett," he answers fervently, opting to withhold the details of the decorations on his undergarments until some later date. "I never visit the doctor or dentist without my lucky lead boxers."

"Sorry to hear that, partner," she teases, firing a wild look in his direction. "You know why they banned lead paint, right? Harmful if ingested. We need to keep our mouths away," she says, letting her gaze drop from his face and travel south, "from anything covered in lead."

Castle's reply is limited to a gurgle and a thump as his head knocks against the passenger window. "You're trying to kill me," he emits in a low groan, rolling his forehead against the window to cool himself down before rallying. "Although," he says, voice now low for an entirely different reason, "I'm not wearing them now…"

"Too bad we're on a case," Beckett replies with a wink, turning the key in the ignition and firing up the cruiser. She has a sneaking suspicion he'll remember her dodge later, after he realizes this isn't a real case.

"The case," Castle repeats, snapping back to attention. "Right. You were saying something about the fork?"

"Yeah," she confirms. "It seems to be high-end restaurant-quality and doesn't match any of the forks in the apartment," she explains, handing her phone to Castle so he can examine the picture.

"That's because it's not a fork," he answers with a nod as he examines the utensil. "It's a threek."

"A what?" she laughs, cutting him a sideways look.

"A threek," he answers smugly. "Three tines, not four. Hence: 'threek.'"

"And that helps us how?" she asks, cutting through his nonsense but still smiling.

"No idea," he replies with a light shrug. "But it might mean something to an expert."

"Don't tell me you know a guy who knows forks," she says with an eye roll. "And threeks," she allows before he can interject.

He's already shaking his head. "Not as well as you do."

Damn, he's quick today. She'd thought she'd need to contrive a conversation to spur this connection, but he's jumped there already. If she's not careful, they're going to run out of 'leads' sooner than she'd planned.

"Maddie?" she asks, as if following his line of thought.

"She must have catalogs for restaurant supply companies, right?" he suggests reasonably. "Or she should at least be able to point us toward someone who does. Who knows? Maybe she'll even recognize the fork. I mean threek."

"Right then," Beckett replies, pulling away from the curb and pointing the car towards her friend's restaurant. "It's early enough that they won't be open for lunch yet, but it's late enough that the staff should be there. Am I stopping by the loft on the way so you can change into your protective gear?" she asks, risking another perusal of him while she drives.

"I'll take my chances," he replies, sounding both cavalier and confident. "I'm starting to like my odds."

"Getting _cocky_?" she asks, emphasizing the word enough to make them both blush.

"Always have been," he answers with a low growl and not a little bravado.

Laughing, Beckett can't help but to shake her head to help herself refocus on getting them to their next stop in one piece.

"It's so good to have you flirting again," she confesses, smiling contentedly as she navigates traffic and delighting in his sound of agreement. "Though it's also… _interesting_ … to hear you're thinking about future progeny. Good to know."

"You know what else is interesting?" he asks in a voice far too casual to be harmless. "Your knowledge of my preference for boxers."

"Oh, Castle," she laughs, "I've spent at least as much time looking at you as you've spent looking at me. I'm just more subtle."

"I can be subtle," he replies, his tone both affronted at her jibe but pleased by her regard. "No, really, I can," he's compelled to say again after her snort, "unless I _want_ someone to notice what I'm doing."

"So, it was your intent to be noticed?" she asks, reaching out to clasp his hand. "Good plan," she admits, surprising them both by leaving her hand twined with his.

* * *

"What about his movies?" Castle asks as they approach Maddie Queller's restaurant, Q3.

"What?" Beckett asks, again cursing herself for not fully anticipating Castle's ideas. She needs to start flirting more effectively to keep his mind occupied and distracted.

"He was a film student, right? He must've had some projects he was working on."

Damn, damn, damn. "Nothing turned up in his apartment," Beckett temporizes, thinking furiously about how to turn this inquiry around before it blows her case-date wide open.

"Interesting," Castle murmurs, rubbing his chin. "Makes me wonder what kind of films he was making. Not everyone in the business is a Hitchcock or a Coppola, and there are markets for darker fare. If he's dabbling there, the movies would probably be hidden. We should go back to his apartment and look for hiding places or concealed materials."

"I'll call Espo, have him tear into the place," Beckett suggests as she parks, tossing the police placard on the dash to avoid getting ticketed by an NYPD colleague. "Why don't you go see if Maddie's here and I'll meet you inside?"

It's not a great solution, Beckett admits to herself, but it should work for a little while. She's not confident she could pull off a fake call to Espo with Castle sitting right there next to her, not with his penchant for eavesdropping on case calls. That leaves him at the mercy of her friend Maddie, who knows only that this is a fake case, something like a scavenger hunt devised as a treat for Castle. Beckett hadn't shared the romantic impetus for the event with Maddie, since she's convinced her friend would blow the surprise (and she didn't really want anyone to know about that dimension of the day's festivities before Castle). But she'll trust her friend's acting skills to survive a few minutes of scrutiny. Goodness knows they were good enough to keep them out of trouble when they ran around together as teens.

"You're sending me in to face Maddie alone?" Castle asks in surprise. "Defenseless?"

"Are we talking about your boxers again?" she laughs, pulling a smile out of him. "You can manage, Castle. You held her off before, I'm sure you can do it again."

"I'll _try_ to contain my raw magnetism," he replies, sounding doubtful that such a thing could be possible, "but you'd better hurry."

Giving his shoulder a shove to help propel him from the car, Beckett laughs as she goes through the motions of dialing her phone and holding it to her ear. She watches Castle walk toward the restaurant, sending a shooing gesture when he turns around to give her a wave. Thankfully, he's just stepped inside when Beckett's phone actually rings, scaring her half to death.

* * *

Somehow, in the few minutes during which she chastised Lanie for a poorly timed call and thought of a way to turn Castle's idea about searching "Shawn's" apartment, he's already managed to get himself into trouble. When Beckett steps into Q3, her eyes immediately alight on her partner, who's backed up against a wall in an effort to put some distance between himself and Maddie. Her friend, for some unknown reason, has a hand on Castle's arm and is giggling at something he said. It's been a long time since she's seen her partner this uncomfortable, so any territorial feelings are sidelined long enough to come to his rescue.

"Castle," she projects in exasperation, making sure her voice carries enough to announce her arrival, "I thought you were going to dial down your charm?"

Turning to face her friend while leaving her hand in place, Maddie lets a wide smile unfurl. "Do you also expect the wind not to blow and the Mets not to suck?" she teases with a raised brow, adding a new offense to her tally.

"Dad would never forgive you for having a go at the Mets," Beckett says as she reaches them and extends her arms for a hug. Surprised, Maddie drops her hand and embraces her friend. From her place in the hug, Beckett can look over her friend's shoulder with a raised brow to her partner, who wipes his forehead and mouths a silent "thank you!"

"So," Beckett takes control as she breaks the hug and casually maneuvers around her friend to position herself next to her partner. "Did Castle tell you what we're looking for before you started to maul him?"

"That was petting, not mauling," Maddie replies cheekily. "Shall I demonstrate the difference?"

"You can try," Castle answers while gesturing to Beckett. "Maybe she'll let you get farther than she let me."

His joke falling flat, both women turn to give him a flat look.

"Worth a shot," he mumbles with a shrug.

"Rick said something about a fork?" Maddie asks to get the conversation back on track, missing Castle's small smile that his ploy to redirect Maddie's attention was successful. Beckett, however, is a little more discerning and sends him a quick wink.

"Yes," Beckett replies, turning to her friend and continuing before Castle can trot out his ridiculous word again. Extracting her phone, she pulls up the picture and hands her cell to Maddie. "This was found at a crime scene and we're trying to trace it back to where it might've come from. Do you have any supply catalogs or vendors who might be able to help?"

"Don't need 'em," Maddie replies as she leads them to a table in the vacant restaurant. "This is expensive – it's nicer than most people have at home and more expensive than I'd be willing to put on a table with my loss rates. There's only one place I know that charges enough for its meals to justify using this set – Drago."

"Really?" Castle replies, brow wrinkled. "I don't remember Drago having any entrée's that would require a regular-sized fork."

Smirking at his jibe and delighting in a shot at her competitor, Maddie laughs. "You're not wrong," she praises, letting her voice drop an octave and reaching a hand out to touch his forearm, smiling at his defensive reaction to sit back in his chair. "Just come visit me here, Rick, anytime you really need something to satisfy your appetite," she purrs.

Torn between her annoyance at her friend's forwardness and humor at Castle's look of alarm, Beckett tries to rein in this conversation. "Anyplace else you can think of that might use this utensil?"

"I doubt it," her friend replies, turning to face Beckett. "If there were, Drago would find something else to use. The exclusivity is part of the cachet."

"Right then, I guess that's our next stop," Beckett says confidently, taking her phone back and pocketing it.

"You're not staying for lunch?" Maddie asks, a little disappointed. "You should stay," she says as she sidles up to Castle and takes hold of his arm as if willing to anchor him in place. "Besides, it'll take you half an hour to get over to Drago and the manager won't talk to you during lunch rush."

"But we've got those lab reports to pick up on the way," Castle offers, giving Beckett an open look and willing her to play along.

"Right," Beckett says slowly, "the lab reports." At first, Castle's not quite sure she's on the same page. But then she reaches for her phone again with excess consideration and he realizes she's just toying with him. "I'm not sure they're ready yet." Even as she says it, Castle can feel Maddie's grip on his arm tightening. Checking her phone with excruciating slowness, Beckett prolongs the moment while her partner tries desperately not to fidget.

"Yeah," she finally declares, while Castle tries to cover his exhalation of relief as a cough. "They're ready. Sorry, Maddie, but we should really get going. Thanks so much for your help," she says, again moving in for a hug to again free her partner. It doesn't work as well this time, as Maddie spins to hug Castle after Beckett releases her, going up on her toes to kiss his cheek.

Castle's still blushing when they leave Q3, though the relatively cool air helps him calm down.

" _Mean_ ," he says petulantly to his partner as they approach her cruiser.

Laughing, Beckett tries to make up for her little tease by unlocking the cruiser and holding his door open for him, guiding him to his seat with a sweeping gesture. He's just about to make a comment when her hand gives his behind a pat as he goes to sit down, rendering him temporarily mute.

After she rounds the car and takes her place behind the wheel, she turns to face him before turning the ignition. "So, partner, I didn't notice much flirting in there, with or without intent. Poor Maddie's going to be so hurt."

"I don't typically dance around landmines," he grumbles good-naturedly. "I'm not sure the distinction about intent would make a difference to your friend. I am _never_ going back to Q3 without a chaperone."

Laughing at his scandalized tone, Beckett finally starts the car and moves to a new topic. "So, to Drago or do we need to get those lab reports?" she asks with a perched brow.

"Actually, I think we _do_ need lab reports," Castle replies with a haughty look, "but why don't we start toward Drago?" Beckett looks curious but follows his suggestion. After she's pulled into traffic, he tries to explain.

"I was thinking about the crime scene you described," he begins, and Beckett again marvels at his innate ability to cause chaos even in a fake case. "His pants were off, right? I was thinking, there aren't many people I'd let close to me if I were so…"

"Vulnerable?"

"Yeah," he agrees with a swallow. "So, this had to be someone he knew well, right? I mean, she – or he, I guess – _someone_ got right up to his naked groin with a dining utensil. Is it crazy to think that there could be saliva on the fork, or, uh, other bodily fluids around there that could identify a suspect?"

"Lanie's working on it," she assures him, wondering if she's going to need to bring her girlfriend into today's plan. She'll catch hell for it, both for her sappy idea and for keeping her friend out of the loop on recent developments. "I'll check in during lunch. Speaking of which," she says, anxious to shift the topic, "does my celebrity author partner have enough pull to get us into Drago?"

"You really want to eat there?" he asks in surprise. "Our last outing there didn't go very well," he recalls, looking sad. "Although," he offers, cheering himself up, "you looked _fantastic_."

"It didn't go well because we were there with the wrong people," Beckett explains while smiling at his compliment, reaching out for his hand again. "And even if it started on the wrong foot, I think it ended pretty damn well," she says confidently, remembering their post-case trip to Remy's.

"That it did," he agrees, nodding and wearing a small, happy smile.

Beckett's just patting herself on the back for directing their conversation to one of the milestones she wanted to cover in today's date when her partner surprises her again.

"Hey," he suggests, "pull into that parking garage up ahead."

Beckett angles toward the turn he indicated, but traffic is so jammed that it'll take at least another few minutes before they can even make the turn to approach the garage. Given how much time they're spending in the car today they'd be better off on the subway, but she needs the supplies in her trunk for later. She's a little surprised Castle hasn't already suggested ditching the car, considering all the other ways he's challenged today's case-date.

"We're not close enough to walk to Drago," she suggests, wondering about his request to park.

"True," he admits. "But you reminded me of how much fun we had at the diner after our time at Drago. There's a great diner just around the corner," he says with a light shrug, getting a little embarrassed.

"You don't want to create new memories at Drago?" she asks, curious.

"I do," Castle answers, struggling a bit. "But… not just yet?" he asks hesitantly. "It just feels like we'd be on display there. Maybe literally, if there are paparazzi around. I was kind of hoping for something a little more comfortable. Someplace where I'd only need to share you with one other person."

His halting suggestion had started so shyly and been so endearing that Beckett's thrown by the surprise ending. "One other person?"

"Your dad's office is just down the block, right?" he partner answers. "We should invite him to join us."

Dammit, he's just blowing today's plan to hell and making it so much better. She'd hoped to maneuver them into lunch at Drago, since that's where they should've gone together a year ago. But they've already managed to talk about that time, and his offer is so romantic that she easily lets go to her plan in order to embrace his suggestion. With one adjustment.

" _You_ ," Beckett declares, sniffling, "are an incredibly sweet man. Thank you for thinking of dad," she says sincerely, "but we can see him on the weekend. I don't want to share you today."

"Then I'm all yours, partner," he answers, smiling.

"Good," she purrs in reply. "Because I know _exactly_ what I want to do with you."

* * *

A/N: The Castle Fic Stream Con starts in less than eleven hours! There are some really good sessions tomorrow, though I'm especially looking forward to hearing from Garrae at 5 PM Eastern. I'm up on Saturday, joining a panel on AUs and crossovers at 6 PM and then with GeekMom and Aalon at 7 PM Eastern. Check castleficstreamcon on tumblr for the schedule.

And I almost forgot: go check out "I'm Not So Tough" by CaskettFan5. I got a sneak peek so I can tell you there's good stuff on the way!


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain. Also, I borrowed some dialog from an episode, which had to be bent slightly to fit the context here. You'll recognize it.

A/N: They're still working on their case, or their date, depending on who you ask.

* * *

"Thank you, Rick," Beckett says quietly as Castle exits the diner after taking some time to wash his hands after their cozy, private lunch. "That was a great suggestion," she praises before taking a quick look around. Satisfied they're private in the bustling anonymity of New York City, she leans up to drop a quick kiss on his cheek, leaving him gaping at the public display of affection brazenly committed during work hours – the second one today! She'd better calm down, she reminds herself, or she'll give away the true nature of today's time together before she's ready.

"It was my pleasure," he replies with a contended smile, rubbing his cheek where her lips had just been.

"But it's time to get back to work," she chastises them both as she starts them back toward the parking garage, letting her voice revert to its usual authoritative tone. "While you dawdled in the restroom," she explains while bumping hips with him, "I made some calls. I almost shudder to see how you'll react."

"This sounds intriguing," Castle says happily, wondering about the next development. "Did Espo find some, uh, artistic movies?" he asks with an eyebrow waggle. "Or did something interesting turn up in the lab reports?"

"Both," Beckett replies as they reach the garage and start the process of retrieving her car. "But Espo didn't find movies, at least not yet. He found some poker chips."

"Gambling, eh?" her partner replies, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "Where are the chips from?"

"Still working on that. They have symbols written on them," Beckett replies, climbing into the cruiser, "but no names."

"Were the chips the same or do they look different?" he asks as he buckles himself in, and Beckett fears that the timing of yet another aspect of her fake case is about to be compromised.

"Six chips, all of which look different," she answers while hiding her flinch. "And each with a different symbol."

"Those aren't poker chips," Castle replies, pulling out his phone and opening his photo roll, scrolling for a long while until he finds the picture he wants. "Those are keys," he suggests, holding up a picture of some similar chips. Looking at the photo, Beckett recognizes the desktop on which the chips sit.

"Care to tell me why you have chips like those hidden in Mr. Bean's apartment there, partner?" she asks seriously, though her look grows more stern as her partner giggles in reply.

"Mister Bean!" he continues to snicker. " _That's_ why you kept referring to the vic by his first name, which you don't usually do. You know, I still haven't seen a picture of him – does the vic look like Rowan Atkinson?" he chortles.

"Focus, Castle," his partner says in exasperation. "Yes, fine, that's why I call him Shawn. Now give me an answer about the poker chips – how do you know about them and why do you have them?"

"It's ID," Castle explains, still chuckling. "I take the right chip and I can show up in the right dark alley and get myself into a back-room poker game. It's like a membership card."

"So, by 'back-room' you mean ' _illegal_.' Do I want to know why you have so many?" she asks with a perched brow.

"Uh, research?" Castle tries before his partner's flat look shuts him down. "They're getting dusty," he assures her, switching gears. "I've had other diversions for the last few years," he explains, unable to keep himself from casting an appreciative eye her way.

"Glad to hear it," she replies happily, dropping her scowl in favor of a smile. Then, juggling her phone while she starts to navigate the car through traffic, she opens up her own picture and hands the phone to Castle. "The chips we found in Shawn's apartment are still being processed, but Espo sent me this picture of a symbol from one of them. He's running it down now," she explains, proud of herself with coming up with this explanation while Castle was in the diner's restroom, even finding a plausible picture online. "Do you recognize it?"

"That's a _gromoviti znaci_ ," her partner answers, bursting her little bubble of pride. "A thunder mark. It's the symbol of the Slavic thunder god Perun."

"Seriously?" Beckett asks, shaking her head. She doesn't even know herself what the symbol means, only that she'd recognized it from her time abroad in Russia as a student. She thought that'd be enough to turn Castle's inquisitive mind to where she wants him to go. Some time spent tracking down possible meanings for the symbol, hopefully including a trip to the New York Public Library to check off another visit to a pivotal location in their history, would be perfect. But now he's pulling out arcane knowledge and ruining her plan with his logic. Not appreciating this role reversal at all, she squints at him to ensure he's not toying with her and accidentally prompts a confession of a different sort.

"It's true!" he assures her. "There's a lot of confusion about the ancient pantheon of Slavic gods, but research suggests the differing deities worshipped by various tribes stem from a common set of gods. There're even references to a supreme god who stood above all others in the Slavic version of Olympus, but the historical records that mention the supreme god don't provide a name. Some scholars think Perun reigned supreme. Which is kind of weird," he adds in a theistic aside, "since Perun is almost always mentioned in the same context as another Slavic god named Veles, his arch-enemy." Noting that Beckett looks like she's anxious for him to get to his point, he gets back on course. "Anyway, whether he was the supreme god or not, Perun was handy with lightning bolts, and that symbol," he says, pointing to the photo on Beckett's phone, "is the thunder mark engraved on the roof beams of houses to protect them from Perun's storms."

"How do you know this stuff?" Beckett asks in wonder, shaking her head and honestly wondering how many disparate facts he has at his command. Then, in a more brisk tone, she cuts a quick look at her partner. "So, Shawn was gambling someplace with worshippers of ancient Slavic deities? That should be easy to find," she finishes sarcastically.

"Probably not Slavic," Castle says, fidgeting in his seat. "We've come full circle again, Beckett, back to another one of our early cases. I think we're looking at a chip for a Russian poker place."

Yes! Beckett exults, glad that he's on this path, even if he got here quicker than she hoped. "Russian?" she asks to play along.

"We're talking ancient myths here," he says, tapping on her phone again. "They've become more cultural icons than anything, and that culture grew to become modern eastern Europeans. The Russians remember their mythology," he intones. Beckett, meanwhile, grows quiet, lest she deter her author from the storytelling she enjoys so much. "Do you remember the USS Monitor from Civil War history? The Russian Imperial Navy acquired updated Monitor plans and built its own ironclad, which they named _Perun_. So, Russians know their Perun mythology, and there are plenty of Russian poker dens, as we found out a year and a half ago."

"You're making this up," Beckett challenges flatly, proud that she's keeping a straight face. "You're just looking for an excuse to crash another Russian poker game."

"Could you blame me if I was?" Castle answers, firing off another roguish grin. "You were seriously hot back when you busted in to save my life."

"You had me worried, partner," she admits. "I wasn't sure I was gonna be able to pull you out of there."

"Nah, you weren't worried," he denies, his casual words at odds with his serious demeanor. "You hated me then," he reminds her, jumping in when it looks like she's going to interject. "With good reason. I'd violated your trust and hadn't yet figured out that I needed to apologize. I'm just lucky the paperwork you would've faced following my demise was fearsome enough to encourage you to save me."

"But you did apologize," she reminds him, ignoring his joking reference to her excuse back then. "And I didn't hate you," she denies, even in the face of his dubious look. "I was certainly upset, but I didn't hate you, Castle. I was hoping you'd give us a reason to come back together, and you did."

"Alexis did," he admits, running a hand through his hair. "She was having boy troubles at the time and asked me why we're all such idiots, why we try to justify our mistakes instead of just apologizing."

"Smart girl," Beckett praises with a nod, interested in this insight into their reconciliation after that first summer apart. It's another topic she wanted to cover today, part of their greatest hits on the way to finally being together.

Speaking of getting together, this conversation leads her to finally abandon part of her original plan. The blankets and cooler in the trunk will have to wait for another outing, although perhaps what was intended to be a picnic dinner can be a lazy breakfast instead. Now all she needs to do is pivot their afternoon to point at a different dinner location. And she knows exactly how she's going to do it. Had today not gone so well, had he not balanced the professional and personal so well, she'd be more wary of this route. But it's time to really focus on what matters.

"You said there were lab reports, too?" Castle asks cautiously, looking uncertain about whether Beckett's ruminations dwelled on his apology for interfering with Johanna's case or something else.

"That's right," Beckett says brightly, cringing internally at her ebullience. "We got a hit on a partial print from the fork from INS. Irina Nikulin. Sound familiar?" she asks, truly moving to stump her partner since she'd manufactured the name just now.

Pursing his mouth and letting his eyes go hazy, Castle blows out a breath when he comes up empty. "Nothing. Should I know her?"

"On her own, no," Beckett continues to make things up, reveling in the delight she imagines her partner must feel when he writes his stories. "But her uncle, Volodya Nikulin, is well-known to the Organized Crime unit. Problem is, his niece was thought to be back in Moscow, not stabbing film students here in the city."

"So, what – Shawn starts gambling and ends up hitting on a gangster's niece?" Castle thinks out loud, before editing himself immediately. "No, that doesn't work. From Shawn's, uh, vulnerable position," he says as he squirms again, "it seems more likely that Irina did it herself. Hey, I know," he says as he manufactures a theory of his own, "Shawn was working on his own, Russian version of _The Godfather_. He connected with Irina, got access, and got in too deep. She had to plug the leak and protect the family, either on orders from Uncle Vova or as a matter of personal pride."

"Totally implausible, Castle," Beckett reacts immediately, shaking her head in disbelief that he's crafted a plausible story out of the fake clues she's pulled out of thin air. "Do you seriously expect me to believe that an untrained civilian could be so foolish as to try to infiltrate a Russian gang, only to let himself be discovered and face almost certain death?" The look she cuts him delivers her message just as eloquently as her words.

"Uh, I'm pretty sure that exact scenario's happened before," he admits with a gulp. "Though poor Shawn didn't have a kick-ass detective partner to swoop to his rescue."

"I'm supposed to keep you safe, Rick, not embolden you to pursue riskier behavior," she says meaningfully, cursing herself for the warble in her voice – this was meant to be a reminder, not a confession of her own fears.

"I know," he says quickly, reaching out for her but pulling his hand back to avoid distracting her while she's driving. But she catches his hand before it returns to his side, giving a gentle squeeze before breaking the clasp to focus on driving. "I was just really hoping to impress you, trying to earn your forgiveness."

"I'd prefer this not happen again," she replies, her voice still sounding more emotional than she'd like, "but if it does, promise me we'll talk first, before resorting to heroics?"

"That sounds like something that should go both ways," he replies, his tone gentle but still insistent.

"Yes, it is," she agrees, unsurprised that he's pushing for balance but glad he is. "Don't look so surprised, Castle," she teases at his look of shock following her easy acceptance. "I'm kind of a fan of talking now. Look how well the last couple weeks have gone."

"It's been a dream," he admits, looking out the passenger-side window to hide his blush. "But unless I'm still dreaming, we're heading to my place. What's going on?"

"You're gonna prove to me that you learned something, that you can go undercover without getting yourself into trouble," she answers, sounding skeptical. "We're going to go scope out Volodya Nikulin's restaurant this evening. I don't really expect to see Irina, but we'll at least get a sense of the place, see what's going on. Then we can explore our options tomorrow."

"Okay," Castle answers easily, looking forward to dinner with Beckett and getting to go undercover. "But we've still got a while before dinner, right? We just finished lunch."

"It'll take us a while to get to Little Odessa," Beckett replies, thinking of the drive out the Russian community in Brooklyn. "But there's something I want to show you on the way. We'll clock out for an hour," she continues with a hesitant voice that clearly signals to her partner that she's pushing ahead despite some discomfort. It's a realization that prompts him to avoid teasing her or joking about playing hooky.

"I'll enjoy spending time with you," he offers quietly, awed by her quiet effort. "Am I changing here or grabbing a change of clothes for dinner?"

"Just grab a change of clothes. Nothing too fancy," she offers, "but fancier than you'd want to wear on our little side trip."

Observing the mood, Castle doesn't push on her slightly cryptic answer. Just a few minutes later, they're pulling up in front of his building, where Beckett decides to stay in the car while her partner runs up to retrieve some dinner clothes.

Castle's already chosen his wardrobe on the elevator ride up to the loft, so it's short work to place some items in a garment bag. He's pushing his luck, he knows, but she did say she wanted something fancier than what he's wearing, which would already suffice for many of the nicer restaurants around town.

Beckett looks impressed when he slides back into the cruiser a mere ten minutes after their arrival. "Were you already packed?" she asks in faux amazement, earning an eye roll from her partner.

"You think that's fast?" he asks, emboldened, "I can make clothes disappear even faster."

"Don't believe you," she sasses back as they pull back into traffic. "You'll have to prove it sometime."

"Anytime, Beckett," he vows in a low rumble that seems to charge the air in the car. " _Every_ time, if you like."

"We'll have to _experiment_ ," she replies, tapping a finger on her chin in contemplation. "You know, see what works best."

Her answer has her partner shifting in his seat again, this time with a different kind of discomfort than that occasioned by thinking about homicide-by-fork.

"So," he gruffs out. "Should I get us reservations?"

"I took care of it while you were upstairs," Beckett answers, before looking surprised at his pout. "Why so upset, Rick? This isn't some kind of wounded male pride thing where you think you need to make the arrangements, is it?" she challenges.

"You know me better than that," he answers, discarding her theory. "I bet you spoke Russian when you got the reservations, though, didn't you? I knew it!" he groans at her nod of confirmation, letting his head thump back against the headrest. "Promise me I'll get to hear you next time?"

"Why?" she asks, casting him a sultry look. "You like my _linguistic_ abilities?"

"So hot," is his only answer, but it's still enough to make her blush.

Her quick jaunt to retrieve clothes for dinner takes a little longer than did his. She's ready for his teasing when she returns to the cruiser, but he's uncharacteristically well-behaved, which she takes as another sign of how well today is going. He wasn't totally innocent, she realizes as she restarts their journey. The radio is tuned to one of his favorite stations, one she usually bans, but she lets it go without comment. In fact, to show she's aware of his playfulness and thankful for his support today, she says nothing but bumps up the volume slightly for their long drive.

Their time in the car is mostly quiet, but comfortably so. Traffic even breaks up a little as they leave Manhattan, which is an unexpected but welcome surprise. Oddly, even the silence seems to encourage Beckett, who's trying to think of anyone else with whom she could simply relax and be.

The only drawback to her revised plan that occurs to her as they continue to head south is that they're going to end up far from home with a long drive back after dinner tonight. It's not a terrible problem to have, especially if it goes as well as this leg of the trip.

Castle seems to perk up as they approach the destination, noting the slowing of the car as Beckett finally pulls into a parking area off of Surf Avenue. Once she parks the car, they sit in silence for a few moments, listening to the clicks and whirs of the cooling engine before Beckett spurs them into action. Exiting the car, she waits for Castle to come around and join her before she sets off, walking for the last, long block to reach her goal.

It's been a long while since he's been here, Castle thinks as he looks around. After all, he's got a house on the beach in the Hamptons, so the allure of other sandy destinations has waned. But the attraction here isn't the surf or the sand, it's the woman who's walking beside him. The fiercely private woman beside him who wanted to bring him here, wanted to take a break from the workday, to share something personal with him.

They finally reach the boardwalk, cutting across it to reach the sand, before Beckett reaches out and catches his hand in hers. When they finally reach the waves, she brings them to a halt, releasing Castle's hand and stepping into his side. She smiles and leans into him as he wraps an arm around her, leaving them facing the water together in silent communion.

"We had a reception at our place after my mom's funeral," she murmurs after several long minutes, speaking barely loud enough to be heard over the lapping waves. "It was miserable," she recalls to a partner who holds her just a bit tighter. "Dad took my hand and he said ' _Let's get the hell out of here, Katie_.' We took the Q train, came out here to Coney Island. We walked up and down this beach, just enjoying ourselves. We were still in our funeral clothes. And the best part was that we made a little guy out of the twigs and twine that washed up on the shore. I still have him in my desk at the precinct to remind me," she finishes wistfully.

"To remind you of a bad memory or a good one?"

"Both," she answers, pressing into him again. "He's a reminder that even on the worst days, there's a possibility for joy."

"That's beautiful," Castle replies softly after dropping a quick kiss on Beckett's temple. "Thank you for sharing that memory with me," he says, fully appreciating how private that recollection must be, how much it means that she's offering it up freely. "I'd like to see the little guy sometime, if that's okay."

Beckett huffs a laugh. "Sure. I'm a little surprised he's avoided your snooping this long," she adds with a nudge before turning to look into his eyes and growing serious. "Just be careful with him, please. He's fragile," she whispers, "and it'll be easier to hurt him than you might think."

Handkerchiefs and stick men, Castle thinks, the metaphors of our beginning.

"I'll guard him with my life," Castle vows quietly. "For as long as you'll let me."

From the widening of her eyes, it's clear Beckett understands his vow, knows that he understood the meaning of her warning about the figure's fragility. And rather than shrink from her request, he offered even more than she asked, offered as much as she hoped for, even if she didn't realize it when she broached the topic.

"I'm lucky," she offers in response. "He's not alone anymore. Now I've got someone else to remind me of the possibility of joy," she says as she gives her partner a squeeze and then disengages from their embrace. Offering her hand again, she looks up into his gentle smile. "Walk with me?"

Lacing his fingers with hers, Castle brings her hand to his mouth for a gentle kiss. Then, his voice following Beckett's to a more playful register, he surveys the beach. "Lead the way, partner."

* * *

A/N2: Apologies for those of you who want me to "just get on with it," but Beckett's invested some serious thought into the strategic purposes for this date. But, it's slowly reaching the conclusion. The next chapter might get us there.

On another note, I'm back on the Fic Stream Con this weekend. I've got new headphones to avoid the trouble from last week, but I'm flying solo this time around. So, please join me at 5:00 Eastern on Saturday and be gentle!


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

A/N: I said I'd finish this story with one more chapter. I could've been stubborn and held the line, but I decided to split the chapter to make it more accessible. Plus, anyone who wants to hazard a guess at the topic under discussion at the bottom of this chapter can dive in.

Ach! Late addition: I forgot to mention that I borrowed a quote from Nathan Fillion for this chapter.

* * *

"We should probably get moving," Castle sighs gently from his seat on the sand, where Beckett's beside him with her head on his shoulder. "Time to put on our game faces and go check out Uncle Volodya's restaurant."

"Yes," she agrees with a tone of regret. Castle's surprised her again this afternoon. After her ruminations about how he's not built to be quiet, he proved her wrong. Sure, he spoke while they combed the beach, looking for shells or stickman components as an excuse to trade small, private stories. But he listened better than he spoke. He let go of his defensive humor and shared some stories about himself, too, but they followed in the spirit of her own admissions. And then, when things risked turning too introspective, he invited her to sit with him and watch the water. It was a beautiful, perfect moment that lost none of its power by being one of several such examples today.

"Let's go back to the car and grab our bags," she suggests as she rises from the sand and dusts herself off. "Then we can go change in one of the restrooms here."

Castle, who'd been rising himself, freezes midway while casting her an odd look. Struggling upright, he's shaking her head at his idea. "Beckett, have you _seen_ the restrooms on Coney Island? We certainly wouldn't want to eat after that, assuming we'd not contracted some awful disease. Come on," he says while extending a hand to her. "I saw a gym about a block away from where you parked. We'll change there."

"Listen to Mr. Pragmatic," she laughs, grasping his hand and swinging it happily. "Let me guess – you know a guy who works there? Or owns the place?"

"It's just a gym, Beckett," he replies, shaking his head in response to her teasing. "Worst case, we pay the visitor's rate for a day. Trust me," he emphasizes with a squeamish look to the public restroom, "it'll be worth it."

Beckett laughs again, but more because she's feeling peaceful and happy than at her partner's discomfort. The walk back to the car passes in amiable chatter as they comment on the surroundings and other beachgoers. Ten minutes later, they're entering the gym Castle had spotted with bags in hand, blatantly ignoring the "Restrooms for Members Only" signs prominently displayed on each glass door.

The young man behind the counter is already shaking his head as they approach. Beckett's thinking about pulling her badge to encourage some cooperation when the attendant freezes mid-shake and his jaw drops. "Richard Castle?" he asks in something that sounds almost like awe.

"Hi…," Castle beams, breaking out his best book-signing smile and reading the employee's nametag, "… Chip. I'd like two visitor's passes for the day, please, though we'll only be here for about fifteen minutes," he says politely while pulling out his wallet.

Chip looks scandalized at the notion that _Richard Castle_ would pay to use the facilities. "No, no, Mr. Castle," Chip enthuses, stepping out from around the desk to hold open the turnstile for them. "Please, it's a pleasure to have you here. No need to pay."

"How about a picture?" Beckett suggests, smirking at her partner in return for the quick look he cuts her.

" _Really_?" Chip asks, sounding like he won the lottery.

Jumping in again before Castle can answer, Beckett happily volunteers him while ignoring his sigh. "He'd love to. But we're here to change for dinner. Let's do the picture on the way out, once he's cleaned up a bit."

From the stunned look on Chip's face, this is apparently a very welcome idea. Beckett chuckles and leads the way down the hall, where she blows her befuddled partner a kiss before entering the woman's locker room.

Roughly fifteen minutes later, she's finally managed to change into her dress, after getting tangled a few times. Happy that no one saw her struggle, she's repacked and ready to rejoin her partner. She smiles to herself as she thinks about taking a little longer, certain that Castle finished first and is at the mercy of his devoted fan. But that's not really where she wants his attention focused, so she grabs her garment bag and prepares to rescue him once again.

To her surprise, Castle's not in the foyer. Instead, he's waiting patiently outside the locker room, looking delicious in a sharp, black suit. This explains the commotion she heard when other women left the room, she thinks, and she can't blame them. So much for not dressing too fancy. "You look _fantastic_ ," she hears herself say. Oh well, she thinks to herself, so much for not encouraging his ego.

But it's not his ego that appears to be enflamed. "You're _gorgeous_ ," Castle declares as she takes the few, short steps toward him. She can't stop – the reverence in his voice, the awe in his look, it pulls her in. Next thing she knows, her free hand has a hold on his tie and she's tilted into him. No peck on the cheek this time – it's a full-blown kiss that leaves them both reeling and winded.

Jealous sighs from other patrons leaving gym bring them back to themselves and prompts some blushes, but no regrets.

"I think I was wrong," Castle admits, leaning back so he can let his eyes roam over her. "My boast about making clothes disappear quickly didn't account for all these intricate straps," he says in a graveled voice as his hand raises to delicately map the front side of one of those straps that wend from bodice to shoulder and around to interlace across her back. It's an elaborate variant of the little black dress, one for which she shopped for hours last weekend, but it was all worth it to see the look in his eyes.

"What's the matter, Castle?" she asks, he own voice dropping an octave and shocking them both by how sultry it sounds. "You've got something against anticipation?"

"Obviously not," he replies, holding out a hand in offer to carry her garment bag. "I've been anticipating seeing you in a confection like this for _years_."

"Funny," she replies with a wink, leading him to a nearby bench where she deposits her bag. "I would've thought your daydreams would have me out of a dress, not in one."

"Dreams have to start somewhere," he answers suavely, though he looks a little confused about why she put her bag on the bench rather than let him carry it.

Noticing his look, Beckett answers silently by reaching for his left hand. Lifting it, she delicately removes his wristwatch, carefully slipping into the pocket of his suitcoat. Her purposeful motions convince Castle to bite his tongue and refrain from commenting on how she can't wait to undress him.

His patience is rewarded with Beckett's shocking next move. Slowly, she removes her father's watch from her wrist, transferring to Castle's arm.

"Kate, no," he objects, though he doesn't shake his arm or pull it back lest it cause the beloved heirloom to fall. "I can't…"

"I'm entrusting it to you for tonight." It looks right on his wrist. It's appropriate, after all, given his role in saving it. But she's giving herself away again, so she needs to give him a reason that works in the context of their day. "We're going undercover, right? This will help me not stand out."

"Beckett," he laughs in reply, eyes crinkling as he focuses on her, "trust me. You _always_ stand out." Smiling at her light blush, he covers her hands and the watch with his right hand. "I'll wear it with pride."

"Good," she replies smartly, pulling them out of the sentimentality that's threating her ruse yet again. "Now let's go thank our benefactor," she says with a raised brow and a head tilt toward Chip who's watching them raptly from the front desk, "dump the bags in the car, and go get dinner."

A gentle stroll later, they're approaching _Silovik_ , the destination for their undercover dinner, and Castle's still complaining.

"I can't believe Chip grabbed my ass!" he exclaims anew, still affronted.

"Be honest, Castle," she laughs. "You're resplendent in your suit and looking forward to a nice dinner – you had to be hoping for a little grope, right?"

"From you!" he clarifies in an aggrieved tone. "I'll have you know my ass is very selective and it wants attention only from you."

"For now," Beckett answers as they come to a halt before the outdoor podium, where the hostess is completing her welcome to the couple in front of them. Leaning up to whisper in his ear, she finishes her thought. "It might change its mind after I sink in my nails and hold on tight or use it as a resting place for my ankles."

Castle's inarticulate gurgle prompts a giggle, which draws the attention of the hostess. Immaculately dressed herself, the hostess greets them warmly, her smile widening when Beckett starts speaking Russian (smiling herself at the renewed sound of approval from her partner). The hostess encourages them to take one of the boardwalk tables in the open-air restaurant, and it's not difficult to see why. The partners are both attractive and beaming, looking stunning in the outfits that coordinate so well despite the lack of planning. Beckett assents to the placement but draws out the conversation to exchange pleasantries and establish some bona fides with her knowledge of the language and cuisine. She also makes some other arrangements, but Castle doesn't need to know about those.

With a smile, she takes Castle's arm and draws him forward to follow the hostess, who seats them in the middle table facing the boardwalk, fully on display. One advantage of this spot, though, is that they're sitting side-by-side at the round table, leaving them close enough to twine their hands and lean into each other while overlooking the beach.

"Sorry, Castle," Beckett whispers after they've taken their seats and ordered wine. "This isn't the best location for surveillance, but the hostess was insistent. I was afraid I'd draw too much attention to us by refusing."

Apparently looking for a little payback for her fingernail comment, he turns his head so he can whisper a reply. "I'm overlooking the ocean, about to enjoy a fabulous meal while pressed against the woman of my dreams," he growls, pausing briefly to trace the shell of her ear with his nose. " _Trust me_ , there's no need to apologize."

"Castle…," she squeaks, blushing both at his attention and because of the way her voice broke.

"Do me a favor?" he asks, still whispering intimately. "Order for me? I'm sure I'll like anything you pick almost as much as I like your linguistic abilities."

"You should probably reserve judgment," she husks in reply, "until you've witnessed the full range of my skills," she says while lavishing her words with the kind of attention Castle hopes he'll receive.

"Are you ready to order?" their waitress asks, smiling in appreciation when the partners blush at being caught out. Beckett again uses Russian to chat with the woman, ultimately putting their culinary fortunes in the hands of the chef.

"I'm not sure we're going to get much surveilling done," she says with a small smile as the waitress heads to the kitchen, "when we can't keep my eyes off each other. If the waitress surprised us, Irena could probably do a tap dance right behind us and I don't think we'd notice."

"We'll be fine," her partner replies, quirking his lips before looking down at her hand and covering it with his own.

Not long ago, Beckett wouldn't have noticed what he's doing, how the tone of his voice shifted or how he used the movement of his hand to distract her. But since their big conversation in the loft, she's been more attuned to him, more observant. Clasping his hand and turning to face him, she leans in to whisper to him. Expecting another playful entry in their teasing conversation, he's caught short by her question.

"When did you figure it out?" Beckett whispers, taking the chance to rub his ear as he'd done to hers.

"Figure what out?" he asks too quickly and too defensively.

"Please, Rick," she laughs at his supposedly subtle look of confusion, "don't worry. You've wreaked havoc all day long. Tell me when you figured out what we were doing today."

"We were working a homicide," he answers naïvely. But his partner's figured out exactly how naïve he is. Or, in this case, is not.

" _Castle_ ," she prompts, letting a little of her detective tone to color her admonition.

"Well," he confesses with a light shrug, "I did have kind of an odd theory about today's case."

"Share," she encourages, rubbing his forearm.

Looking uncomfortable, he shrugs again. "I'm not sure that'd be a good idea. If I'm wrong, then I look like even more egotistical than you already think I am. And if I'm right, then…," he trails off before a squeeze of his arm encourages him to finish. "If I'm right, then the case might end."

"Do you really think the case would end?" she asks quietly. "I swallowed my fear and showed up at your door two weeks ago, Rick, with a theory that could've gotten me laughed out of the loft. Have some faith."

Unable to stop his smile at the recollection of the conversation where she asked him to flirt with her, Castle relaxes by a degree. "My theory about the case," he offers after a quick sip of wine, "is that there isn't a case."

"Then we spent a lot of time driving around today for nothing?" she asks, brow perched.

"Not for nothing," he corrects quickly, looking shy again. "For _everything_."

"Now you're just getting sappy," she teases, softening the blow with a kiss to the cheek. "If there was no case, then what was today about?"

"Today was…," he trails off, trying to think of the best explanation. "Today was an affirmation. A way to recall some of the most important moments from our past as we look toward the future."

Of course he articulates it well, Beckett thinks to herself. But maybe she shouldn't let him off the hook just yet. "Explain?" she invites with wide eyes and an imploring look.

"Let's see," he replies, warming up to this topic. "Stop one."

"Tisdale's building," Beckett nods, but looks on in surprise when Castle shakes his head.

"No," he disagrees gently, "Stop one was meeting you at the 'crime scene,'" he emphasizes the deception with air quotes, "with coffee in hand. That's definitely an important aspect of our relationship. It's the one thing that I couldn't make myself stop, back when I was stepping aside."

"What do you mean?" she asks, surprised that he's taken her off script already, in describing a day that she planned!

"I just thought our morning coffee ritual was symbolic for us," he tries to explain, looking sheepish. "It was kind of like a greeting kiss, a way of saying 'good morning, my heart, how are you'? But I never told you that, so I was a little jammed up – you would've noticed if I stopped bringing coffee, but each time I did I felt like…"

Desperate to connect with him and avoid the sorrow of any guilt he absorbed on her behalf, Beckett reaches out to draw him in by the chin, sealing his words with a gentle kiss. "Thank you," she sighs, hand still on his chin to reinforce their connection.

"You know," she offers gently, still spinning from his admission, "I planned today so carefully, but I think you just put it all to shame, _my heart_."

"So, you planned today's case?" he asks with a delighted grin. "Look at that – I prompted a confession! I'm ready to lead our next interrogation!"

"Knock it off," she answers with a laugh, dropping her hand and bumping shoulders with him. "Yes, I planned it. Not that it mattered – you nearly blew it up at every stop. You kept me on my toes today, partner. So, tell me when you figured it out."

Grasping the stem of his glass, Castle swirls his wine while he thinks. "There wasn't a single moment," he admits, ruminating on the day. "It was more like – well, it was more like a regular case, actually. The evidence kept building up, so when the thought occurred to me, it seemed obvious in retrospect."

"Okay, detective," Beckett challenges, leaning back while a server delivers their meals but not breaking contact with Castle, "lay out your evidence. Convince me."

"Oh, Beckett," he sighs happily, "I'm going to try to convince you of many, many things," he growls. When she replies with only an invitingly-perched brow, he lifts his fork but opts for conversation rather than sustenance.

"You seemed off at the start, with the security guard at Tisdale's office," he begins. "We've met people like him before and they don't generally rile you. That's not much, I admit, but it was out of character for you to run so hard at somebody so early in a case. Even though you were annoyed by my suggestion that Shawn's employer was bogus."

"That should've been my warning for how the days was going to go," Beckett laughs. "We were what – ten minutes into the 'case' and you'd already figured out something was made up? And here I thought you'd be so distracted by the vic's name that you wouldn't notice anything else."

"Thanks for that," Castle replies with a grin, after humming in delight at a bite of his meal. "Shawn Bean – that was a nice little present you threw me. So much fun," he laughs again.

"Next?" she asks, prompting him to continue.

"Skipping past the kiss – that I got in the middle of a case! – next was Maddie. I have _no idea_ how your little gang didn't get suspended or tossed out if she's the one who came up with your cover stories back in high school," he smirks.

"What?" Beckett asks in surprise. "I thought she did pretty well. Mind you, we weren't supposed to get to Q3 until lunchtime, but I underestimated how quickly you'd follow the fork clue."

Affecting a little bow for his performance, Castle explains his comments about Beckett's friend. "Maddie was over the top, even for her. She wasn't trying to get a reaction out of me, though," he asserts with a keen look at his partner. "She was trying to provoke you. And you didn't react at all, except to tease. So, something else was going on there, something that you two had already worked out."

"Maybe," Beckett replies before laughing in reaction to his flat look of disbelief. "Was that all from the Q3 stop? Just Maddie's reaction?"

"Well," he supplements while giving her a playful look, "there was also the way you jumped when your phone rang even while you were already 'talking to Espo.'"

"You saw that?!" she emits, embarrassed all over again for how she'd startled at Lanie's call.

"Yeah – had me chuckling when I met Maddie," he laughs before rubbing her arm to soothe any embarrassment. "But you got your revenge, didn't you? With that whole ' _oh, let me see if those lab reports are in yet_ ' bit of stalling."

"You deserved it," she declares. "I wasn't ready for your questions about the lab reports – that forced another bit of improvisation today."

"Mean," he repeats himself with a pout before brightening. "But it got me a pat on the behind, so I've got no complaints."

"And we're back to talking about your ass again," she sighs theatrically before blushing furiously as the woman being seated at the table next to them looks to them after overhearing Beckett's comment. "So, next?" she says quickly to move the conversation along.

Stifling a laugh while nodding to their new neighbor, Castle obliges. "Next, we're off to Drago. Two places from our past could be a coincidence, but three? I was starting to wonder about the pattern. And then right after lunch, the case lead points to Russian poker rooms."

"That wasn't going to be part of the day," Beckett admits, "but I'm happy it was. I had to come up with something while you were in the washroom at Drago. I was hoping we'd need to go to the NYPL to research the symbol – you know, return to the scene of _another_ one of your crimes – but _someone_ ," she intones while cutting him a look, "wrecked that plan. Again!"

Laughing, Castle drops his fork in favor of another sip of wine. "You should be happy! I was following facts, not theories!"

"Trust me, Castle, the irony was not lost on me," she replies with sass before taking another sip herself. "I mean, seriously? Thunder marks, Perun, Civil War battleships? You amaze me, partner."

Oddly, her comment makes him blush far redder than any innuendo she's managed to throw his way. It's a good reminder that for all his playfulness and buoyant optimism, her partner might be a little starved of honest praise. Leaning in close, she takes the opportunity to whisper to him again. "Smart is sexy, Castle."

"I've known that for years," he confesses, pinning her with a look that makes his regard for her obvious.

After she rewards his comment with a quick peck on the cheek, he finishes his case report. "The Perun story brought us out here, where you took time off from work to share with me the most beautiful story I've heard since I met you," he says, his voice dropping into an intimate register in recognition of the commitment she showed with their stop on the beach. "Even if the case was real, I'd have happily ignored it and everything else to spend that time with you."

Ridiculously, Beckett feels tears welling in her eyes. She blinks them back after lowering her head, too interested in continuing their discussion, their date, to give in to her emotions. She'll push the conversation forward for now, but she's also making mental notes of the high notes he's hitting today, setting them aside for post-coital praise. "So," she says while trying to hide the quiver in her voice, lifting her chin in challenge. "Is that your full report? Seems pretty circumstantial if you ask me."

"Really?" he asks in surprise, appreciating what he interprets as her efforts to keep this date on realistic ground as far as the case is concerned. "Okay, you asked for it. I held three things back."

"This should be interesting," Beckett replies with a roll of her eyes. He's already hit the high notes, so whatever follows is likely to be ridiculous.

"First, Lanie's up in the rotation today, not Perlmutter. You said my friend Syndey was at the scene, but later you said Lanie did the lab work," he explains, noticing his partner's chagrined look. "It's not impossible that they'd trade off like that, but it's not likely."

"I really said Lanie did the lab work?" Beckett asks, surprised by her slip of the tongue. And here she was thinking that she'd make a great criminal.

"You did," he assures her. "Right after we left Drago."

"I can't believe I did that," she admits ruefully. "Is the next one something I did, too?"

Nodding sadly, Castle tries to commiserate. "Don't worry, Kate. If we ever fall into a life of crime, I'll do the planning."

Yeah, she thinks, as if either of those things – going on the lam or letting Castle be the criminal mastermind if they did – is ever going to happen.

"The second bit was the car," he goes on to explain, clarifying when she looks confused. "Technically, what's in the trunk, aside from our garment bags. A cooler and blankets?" he asks, curiosity aroused.

Pursing her lips, Beckett has to absorb this shot. "This wasn't my original plan for dinner," she answers with a sweeping hand gesture, taking in the rapidly-filling restaurant, the boardwalk, and the beach. "Not that it isn't a great night out. I thought we'd do a picnic, but then once _someone_ forced me to change plans again, I didn't see how I could get the cooler out without making a scene."

"I love picnics," he replies with a soft smile. "Where did you have in mind?"

"No way, Rick," Beckett says, trying to repress her smile while she shakes her head. "You tell me."

Quirking a brow at her challenge, Castle scoots away from her so he can turn and face her fully, hoping for some nonverbal clue Beckett might give away. When she surveys him regally, he knows that hope is dashed, but he continues to stare while enjoying the view.

It wouldn't be somewhere from the summers, he thinks, since those have been disastrous for them so far. No, it has to be someone they visited on a case if it was part of the day's theme.

"Not Central Park," he muses aloud, trying to coax a reaction. It's the obvious answer, harkening back to the Kendall case where the Redding Prep senior was found dead in a boat, or the later death of a subway worker during a kidnapping. But neither case was pivotal for them in the same way as today's other stops and Beckett doesn't go for the obvious. Beckett's impassive look speaks volumes.

"Not the ballroom from the MADT gala," he continues thinking aloud. "Perhaps for a visit after dinner, but not a good picnic location," he decides, prompting only a light shrug from his partner.

Rubbing his chin, Castle continues to run through their history while Beckett starts to gloat. "Give up yet, Rick? You'll never get it," she says confidently.

"Oh, no," Castle riles, his competitive streak invigorated. "I'm totally gonna figure this out. I've got your number, Beckett."

"Tell you what," she proposes, lifting her wine glass as if proposing a toast. "If you don't guess by the time dessert arrives, I win," she proposes, watching his eyes light up. "And no ordering soufflé, if that's even on the menu," she adds, watching his smile turn into a pout as his delaying tactic evaporates.

"What happens if I lose?" he asks, slightly worried about her confidence.

"If you lose," she whispers breathily as she leans into him, "then we can do _anything you want_ ," she drawls out before nipping on his ear.

Gulping heavily, Castle almost concedes immediately before his few remaining unimpaired neurons fire. "And if I win?"

"If you win," she husky in a voice that's grown even more sultry, "then we can do anything you want," she repeats her words, and her nip to his ear. " _Twice_."


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

* * *

The waitress' arrival with the dessert menus brings Castle back to earth from his daydreaming and helps him focus.

"Clock's ticking, Castle," Beckett teases.

"Will you order for me?" he asks, trying desperately to free his mind to win the bet. "You picked an incredible dinner and I need time to think."

"Two coffees and one Charlotte russe, please," Beckett says sweetly, ordering quickly and handing the menus back without opening them to put the time pressure on Castle, who gives her an exasperated look in recognition of her ploy. "Give up yet?"

"Beckett, I didn't give up for three years," he answers. "Why start now? But hush, I need to think."

"So, is it my turn to play Angry Birds, stare creepily at you, and pontificate on the possible etymological origins of law enforcement terms?" she asks innocently, enjoying herself with this bit of role-reversal.

"' _Etymological origins_ ' is redundant," Castle grouses, wondering if his interruptions are really this irritating.

"I know," she smirks in reply.

Shaking his head and giving a grudging chuckle, he returns to his thoughts in an effort to meet his deadline. "Not the ferry, though that would've been a good one."

"The ferry?" she asks, surprised by a location she hadn't considered.

"Remember?" he prompts. "Strangers on a boat? Where Cosway and Marx met to plan their criss-crossed homicides?"

"How romantic," Beckett chuckles, though they both know that the homicide theme traces through all of today's locations.

"It was, in a way," Castle points out. "It was the first case where we were back on the same page after you let me come back to the precinct. And even though Ryan and Espo never admitted it, we totally won that bet."

"Damn right we did." Beckett had nearly forgotten about that case, about two strangers meeting on their commute and somehow hatching a plan that nearly frustrated their investigation. And Castle's right – the ferry might've been a good location. But that hadn't been the plan, so her smile widens as Castle's time grows shorter and shorter.

"Not the place where we had the _Heat Wave_ launch party. That was indoors and…," he trails off, knowing he's already said too much.

"And?" she follows up, as he knew she would.

"And the party was a fiasco," he confesses. "You might think I only remember that dress you wore, but I remember our discussion. Thinking about it later, I realized I kind of ruined the mood by talking about work when you were talking about something else."

"There was a murderer on the loose," she answers with a shrug, still a little stung by how quickly that conversation went off the rails, due to both of their contributions. "Catching them is what we do."

"True, but with all the clues we consider, you'd have thought I caught a few myself," he replies in a self-deprecating huff. "We've gotten better at talking to each other since then, but I don't think that's a place we should've revisited today."

"I agree," she offers kindly, again reaching out to rub his arm, "but those memories aren't all bad. You stayed," she reminds him. "Just like you promised my dad you would, back at your diner confessional. After fighting your way back into the precinct you had a legitimate reason to leave – a professionally enviable and lucrative reason to leave. But you stayed. It was the start of something I've come to rely on."

"You're right, it was just the start," he promises. "I'm not going anywhere." At her quick nod in reply, he cranes his neck around to make sure the waitress isn't about to arrive with their desserts. He's working on his timing now, looking to make this perfect.

"Unless you had prank – sorry, I mean _curse_ materials as well as food in the cooler," he continues primly, "the New York History Museum wasn't the destination, either." Huffing at his partner's smirk, he thinks of another avoided location, being careful to skip over anything related to her time with Demming or his decision to try again with Gina. He doesn't articulate any of this, but Beckett must see him tensing up, offering a gentle hand squeeze to help keep him grounded.

"Not the Haunt," Castle continues, relaxing at her touch. "You would've wrapped Bill around your finger to have things set up without the need for the cooler."

Beckett nods, though she refrains from exploring this possibility. Involving Bill would've been an unnecessary distraction, and if she didn't involve friends like Lanie in today's fun, she wasn't going to pull in Bill. She'll already be in trouble, she knows, if Lanie realizes that Maddie got pulled in while the ME remained blissfully unaware of what will hopefully be a big day for the partners.

"Time's up, Castle," she says slyly, looking toward the door where their waitress has emerged bearing a tray with coffee and their shared dessert.

"Thank goodness," he sighs in relief, "now I can finally stop stalling."

"Oh? So you've known all along where we were going?" she utters in complete disbelief. "Go ahead, then – last guess."

"It's not a guess," he answers with maddening certainty. "We were going to eat on the benches at First Avenue and 47th Street."

Beckett actually feels her jaw drop. She's sure it looks unattractive to the waitress, who bustles around to deliver their drinks and dessert, but she can't help it. How in the hell…?

The waitress has already departed by the time Beckett manages to turn to her partner, who is again uncharacteristically quiet. He's smiling proudly, of course, but not crowing. From his look, he knows he's right.

"How did you know?" she finally manages to ask.

"Had to be, right?" he answers with a shrug. "You trusted me then, Beckett. Trusted me to deliver the Candela's ransom by myself. It meant a lot," he confesses, looking down at the surface of his coffee before continuing. "I felt like I was actually contributing, becoming something more like a partner."

"That was an important case for us," Beckett whispers in reply. "It was the first time I thought that something real between us might actually work. It was another place," she confesses, "where my past intersected with a possible future." She's tempted to tell him about what Will said, harkening back to the time she stood in line to have Castle sign a book for her, but she'll save that admission for another day.

"We can still go," Castle offers quickly, reaching out to stroke the hand that's clasping a dessert fork.

"Not tonight," she replies, reengaging fully in the conversation. "I have other plans for tonight. And a bet to pay off."

"Check ple…," Castle starts to exclaim before her hand covers his mouth.

"We've got plenty of time, Rick," she assures him, smiling at his antics. "Besides, you need to try this dessert, it's divine," she entices sinfully as she removes her hand from his mouth and uses it instead to lift a bite of the cake to his mouth.

What follows is a ridiculous seduction, nibbling on a rich confection an excuse to touch, rub, feed, and flirt with each other. Their world shrinks to encompass only the small bubble of their table, all other thoughts about cases, exes, and even families falling away while the two partners revel in each other's company.

Castle's surprised when Beckett stands and offers her hand to him. "Let's go home, Rick," she offers in a low tone, her posture open in invitation.

Reaching for his wallet, Castle frowns as Beckett shakes her head and tugs on his arm. "I already took care of it. Didn't need a repeat of the diner incident," she explains with a crafty smile. "And no complaints – this was my date, remember?"

Grumbling good-naturedly at being outflanked, Castle rises and offers his arm to his partner. The hostess drifts over and thanks them for their visit and quietly but effusively wishes them a good night. As another treat for her partner, Beckett thanks her in Russian, smiling as Castle pats her hand. Then, after tossing out "dasvedaniya" himself, Castle leads Beckett toward the car.

"You surprised me again today, partner," she confesses as they saunter down the street together. "I had so much fun planning our day. But you know what I'll remember most? I'll remember someone who didn't brag about seeing through the fake clue this morning, who instead took the time to attend to his partner and clean up her mess. I'll remember someone who kindly fended off my friend's advances while remaining focused on me."

Castle remains quiet, reveling in Beckett's admissions but committing each one to memory.

"I'll remember someone who spoke so eloquently about his apology, about his desperation to come back to the precinct, back to me," she continues, squeezing his arm before releasing it and tugging on his hand to encourage him to wrap it around her. "I'll remember someone who accepted my efforts today without joking, someone who listened and made it easy to share my stories." Leaning into him and slightly regretting their arrival at the parking area, she stops them beside the car before turning to him and whispering "Thank you" as her lips met his.

Several long minutes later, they finally realize that there's no need to stand in a parking lot when they have homes awaiting their arrival if they can just manage to get into the car. With a rueful chuckle, Beckett breaks away and gives her partner a playful nudge toward the passenger door of her cruiser.

Beckett swerves in her lane minutes later when Castle's hand casually lands on her thigh. Saying nothing but offering him a quick look with a raised brow, she laughs at his playful shrug. His hand doesn't wander, but it doesn't retreat, either. The warm weight of his hand is a promise of things to come, and Beckett finds herself squirming even though he's behaving himself surprisingly well.

Trying to think of something to keep her mind focused on the road rather than their destination, Beckett thinks about their conversation over dinner. This proves to be a mistake as she recalls the loving words they exchanged, until a thought suddenly occurs to her.

"The third reason," she says aloud, startling both Castle and herself. "When you were summarizing the conclusions you held back when solving today's case, you mentioned three things. But we only talked about two – Lanie and the picnic. What was the third?"

"Maybe that should be _your_ mystery for the day," he replies mischievously, hand still in place.

"Do you really want me distracted tonight," she answers back in a sinful growl, "letting my mind wander over our case rather than focusing on the matter _at hand_?" she asks while letting her hand fall atop his while tugging it slightly higher.

So much for calming down, she thinks ruefully. But she doesn't move her hand.

"Good point," Cast rumbles next to her, flexing his fingers playfully. "I'll answer with a question," he offers, prompting a long-suffering sigh from Beckett, who just knew he was going to draw this out. "In all our time together, all the cases we've pursued, even in my writing," he adds before pausing with a chuckle, "maybe even for today's date, how do we always start?"

'With a dead body' is the first thought that comes to her mind, but that can't be right. She's only started to ponder the question when the answers becomes blindingly, embarrassingly, and immediately obvious. Lifting her hand from its position atop Castle's, Beckett uses it to slap her forehead. "With a murderboard," she groans. "I can't believe I overlooked that."

"You didn't even show me a 'picture from Espo,'" he laughs, thinking back to the poker chips and Russian symbols.

"Maybe you should be the criminal mastermind of our duo after all," she reverses herself, still chagrined at her oversight.

"Partners in life and crime?" he asks impishly.

"Something like that," she chuckles, letting her hand fall back atop his.

Castle's apparently done behaving himself, though. Even with their fingers twined, he manages to draw little patterns and swirls that have her shifting in her seat. The closer they get to her apartment, the bolder his explorations, until Beckett careens into a parking spot near hear apartment. Flushed, short of breath, and certainly distracted, she credits her excellent driving skills for getting the car mostly within the markers.

She's barely out of the car before Castle's beside her, casting her a look that already has her toes curling, which is especially impressive considering the high-heeled torture devices in which she's clad her feet. Intending to fend him off with a quick kiss, she shakes her head several minutes later, shocked to find herself perched on the cruiser's hood with her dress hiked distressingly high.

"Cooler," she mumble, pushing the key fob to release the trunk latch.

"You _hungry_ , Beckett?" Castle asks with a voice that ought to be barred from use around minors.

"You have no idea," she pants in reply, though, clearly, he does. "If I don't do something to occupy your hands, there's _no way_ we'll make it to my apartment," she confesses, beyond blushing.

Trying to get himself under control, Castle helps her slide off the car's hood before stepping back to avoid temptation. Walking around to the back of the car, he stacks their bags atop the cooler before lifting it up. He turns to allow Beckett to close the trunk and lead him into her building.

Once in the elevator, Castle sets his burden on the floor. He's still straightening up when Beckett takes sidesteps away and raises her finger. "No," she says fiercely, both to him and herself. "Once we start, Castle, we're not gonna be able to stop. Maybe we can explore the elevator some other time," she whispers, watching his eyes glaze over, "either here, or at your place, or the precinct," she says with a wink to his gurgle, "but the first time? We're gonna do it right."

"If it's the two of us," he rumbles in reply, "then it's right, regardless. But I can wait. For another few seconds, anyway." As if to keep himself from temptation, he lifts the cooler again, even though they're not yet on her floor.

Minutes later, they're finally approaching Beckett's door. Castle's added distance to his physical burden, walking a few steps behind Beckett to avoid the temptation to ravish her here in the hallway. It's not all bad, he consoles himself, as the view of her swaying ahead of him in that dress is nearly as intoxicating as getting Beckett on the hood of her car. Still, he's not sure he's ever heard a sound as welcome as her door creaking open.

Neither of them is quite sure what happened after that. There was the bang of a cooler hitting the floor, the slamming of the door, some grunts, a squeal, and, appropriately for them, laughter. Somehow, miraculously, most of their clothes end up on Beckett's sofa, not exactly put away neatly but not heaped on the floor or hanging from the light fixtures.

With another squeal, Beckett finds herself hoisted into the air. Castle's cradling her in a bridal carry, carefully navigating down the short hallway toward her bed. Wary of ending this fantasy by knocking his partner's head on the doorframe, he turns sideways to enter her bedroom. He stops several steps short of the bed, pausing again to ensure that he's actually here, that this isn't some kind of fever dream.

Sliding slowly and deliciously down Castle's front, Beckett lands lightly on her feet and pads to the bedside table, where she lifts a pack of matches. "Will you light the candles, please? I need to grab something," she explains. And while she meant her comment innocently, she can't help but look down at something else she looks forward to grabbing.

Leaving him quickly with a peck on the cheek, Beckett wanders back into her living room to retrieve her purse and the item that resides within. Castle, meanwhile, stands in awe of the array of candles and flowers in Beckett's bedroom. The candles are new, the flowers resplendent, but best of all is the evidence that this, too, was part of her plan for the day. The thought that his partner – his beautiful, fierce, _extraordinary_ partner – spent so much time devising a way to launch their time together nearly undoes him. In quiet wonder, he sets about preparing the room for their beginning together.

Beckett, meanwhile, is somewhat vexed by her inability to find the small purse she used for their dinner outing. Bending over to see if it's beneath Castle's discarded undershirt, she twitches the garment aside. The movement reveals not her errant purse but an envelope with her name scrawled across the front in the sloppy writing of a stereotypical doctor.

Josh. Damn him, she won't let him infect tonight, not after she's worked so hard to make sure that no shadow of his presence haunted them today. At least her eye roll after reading the envelope helped her spy her purse. Grabbing it quickly, she turns to deposit Josh's letter in the trash only to find Castle standing in the hallway, gloriously naked but looking uncertain as his eyes alight on the envelope in her hand.

"Beckett?" he asks, sounding distressingly uncertain.

"Still have those matches, partner?" she asks as she sways over to him, not stopping until she's pressed against his front and leaning up to kiss his chin.

"Uh, yeah," he stammers as her kiss seems to free him from his uncertainty. He steps back into her room and returns quickly, extending the box of matches to her. Rather than take them, though, she tugs on his hand and leads him to the kitchen. Silently, she places her purse in his hand in exchange for the matches. Noting his brows are knit in confusion, she reaches a hand to the back of his head and pulls gently so she can kiss the creases away.

Once he's looking less worried, she turns to the sink. Striking a match, she sets Josh's letter alight.

"Kate, no…," Castle starts, but she quiets him with a gentle smile and shake of her head.

She holds the letter as long as she can, until the flames lick at the corner that she's pinched between thumb and index finger. She holds on just a little too long, intent on proving her point. She flings the remnant into the sink as the flames kiss her fingers, shaking her hand to slough off the sting.

Castle surprises her again, gently catching her wrist and lifting her hand to his mouth. Without breaking eye contact, he draws the tip of her finger into his mouth, his tongue swirling over the hardly-singed digit. By the time he lavishes the same attention on her thumb, her eyes are dilated, her breathing ragged, and the letter forgotten.

Starting anew, Castle releases her hand and instead moving to greet her in a proper kiss. As things grow heated, he tosses her purse onto the counter and again lifts her up anxious to get them back to her bedroom.

"Wait!" she yelps before they've left the kitchen, finally remembering why she left the bedroom in the first place. Following her pointed finger, Castle steps back to the counter, hands the purse to Beckett and starts for her bedroom.

"I can't wait to see what you've got in there that's so vital, Beckett," he says leadingly, hoping for a clue. But this is one mystery she won't spoil, one surprise left for a day full of them.

"Stop talking, Castle," she chides before finding an especially delicious spot on his neck. "And take me to bed."

* * *

If they managed two hours of sleep in total before Dispatch calls early the next morning, it's only by a small margin. Despite an early dinner and early return to Beckett's apartment, they hardly slept, far too interested in finally starting their time together to pay attention to clocks, duty, or on-call rosters.

The early wake-up call was probably a boon, though. Fully rested, they'd both be chirping and beaming, certain to telegraph clearly what had changed between them. But the fatigue mitigates that appearance, so when they show up at the crime scene, neither the boys nor Lanie notice anything particularly unusual.

It's not until they're back at the precinct when things start to unravel. Castle can't help his smirk when Beckett stands to start building the timeline on the murderboard, and she chuckles to herself for yesterday's oversight. She can't help but catch Castle's eyes, and he can't help but to smile at the reminder. Trying to hide his reaction, he stands and asks for coffee orders, retreating to the break room to recapture his composure.

Leaving was a mistake, though, as both Ryan and Esposito note the hitch in his gait.

"What happened to him?" Espo asks, watching Castle mask his limp as he enters the break room.

"No idea," Beckett answers casually, turning back to the whiteboard where no one can see her smile.

Sensing something's amiss, Espo heads to the breakroom, following Castle. Ryan remains in his chair, though he's scrutinizing Beckett, not the murderboard.

"Son of a bitch," he says in a quiet voice, looking quickly from Beckett to the break room and back again. " _Finally_ ," he whispers, looking pleased.

Beckett, alternatively, looks mortified since she has no idea how Ryan tumbled onto them so quickly. "Ryan, it's not…"

"Hush," he replies easily. "Your secret's safe with me. _Not_ from Javi," he says, gesturing to the break room with a thumb. "If I figured it out, then he will, too. But we'll keep it quiet."

She really shouldn't do this, especially not before talking to Lanie. But she's just so damn happy, and so pleased that someone's rooting for them, that she drops her guard. "Thank you, Kevin," she says warmly.

"So, is he hurt?" Ryan replies, gesturing again to the breakroom and wearing an expression that would look more at home on Castle's face. "Or is he just worn out?"

Pursing her lips and shaking her head, Beckett chastises herself for falling into these circumstances already. But now that Ryan, and probably Espo, suspect what's going on, Castle's limp will just provoke more questions until they can be shut down. So, with a smile that grows larger than she expected, Beckett tries to minimize the speculation on this front. "It's, ah, an injury. He just sat on something," she says while recalling Castle's unfortunate roll on her bed, when Dispatch called, and the yelp that followed when he found her joke prop with his derriere. "He'll be fine in no time."

Ryan looks skeptical of this explanation and is about to follow up when Espo sticks his head out of the break room and shouts out to her across the length of the bullpen. "Yo, Beckett," he calls, indifferent to the attention his loud interjection attracts. "What in the hell is a 'threek?'"

* * *

A/N: And, done! For real, this time. Hope you enjoyed the ride, which went a little longer than expected. Next stop, early season 4 for a new story. Apologies for missing out on the Halloween Bash, but I'll bank the story I would've written for somewhere down the road.


End file.
